


Dancing In The Fire

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Drama, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-28
Updated: 2003-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-27 06:12:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12075147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian and Justin have some tough adjustments to make the second time around.  FollowsWaiting Out The Cold.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Glittered bodies, primal bass notes, organ riffs and rises. 

Brian, in his black shirt, moved to his own rhythm surrounded by men like tribal dancers honoring their god. Or willing sacrifice. 

Justin shouldered against bodies to get to him. Kept getting pushed aside and back. 

The circle raged into flames with only one human face, smiling beautiful and forbidding in the glow. Now there were no bodies to scale. Only flames. And each time Justin reached into that fire to touch the man, he singed and burned and pulled back until he tore through despite the cost. 

The fire softened to shades of blue carried on an old melody. Unworldly, licking spires cool as moonlight…Brian still centered in them, serenely open, dark suit and white silk scarf, holding out his hand. 

Their fingertips met. 

White flashed to black. No sound, then. No touch, then. Only blackness. A far-off whisper to come home. And the distant wail of a siren. 

 

* * * * *

An ambulance siren faded in the distance. 

Justin sparked awake and reminded himself he was safe in Brian’s bed. No blue lights. Just thin strips of streetlight through the blinds. He stretched an arm to Brian’s space. Empty. Eyes anxious, he sat up and took larger inventory, saw Brian’s back as a shadow seated at the foot of the bed. 

Brian hunched forward with arms braced on his thighs and hands clasped suspended in the space between his knees. He stared into darkness that seemed to match his thoughts. 

“Brian? You okay?” Justin rustled from the covers and edged toward him. 

Brian raised his head a moment and drooped forward again. Not much of an answer. He was never much for words. Not this kind, anyway. 

Justin v’d his knees alongside Brian’s thighs, slid his arms around Brian’s waist and pressed against his back, head turned away, cheek resting on a shoulder. Like a sculpture of lost souls – one thinking the worst, the other expecting it. 

“You want me to go?” 

“If you stay-” Brian tilted his head to brush Justin’s hair. “-there are no guarantees it’ll be like some fairytale. I hope you know that.” 

“Can’t we just take it a day at a time?” 

“I thought you wanted something longer term.” 

“So did I. But I know better now.” Justin pulled tighter. 

Brian slid his hands up Justin’s legs. “god knows I’m no prize.” 

“Will you quit it?” Justin raised his head and nipped Brian’s shoulder, which got a flinch from Brian and a crack on the ass for himself. “You’re so much more than you let yourself think, and it pisses me off when you talk like that. Or are you just fishing for sympathy?” 

Brian twisted back and trapped Justin in a headlock. “Brat!” 

“Watch it! It doesn’t bend that way!” Justin wrenched free and dropped back on his elbows, cock at quarter to noon. 

Brian spun upright on one knee, grabbed Justin’s thighs and yanked them up to free folded legs that looked more painful to him than they actually were for Justin. Then he leaned in for a kiss, only to be halted by a stiff-armed hand to his chest. 

“Earn it,” Justin challenged. 

Brian, rising to meet it, dove in. As they tumbled and wrestled through a game of capture and escape, Brian savored the return of this side of his lusty, fiery lover, so different from the washed-out hesitant little twink confused by the meaning of romance. 

Justin held his own against Brian’s pegged meter and tried not to wonder what outcome would have happened had he chosen this tactic instead of a picnic on the floor the night Brian needed to unwind. 

They tore up the bed until the sheets were stripped to the mattress, their pseudo-battle ending with a hard fuck that had Justin flattened under Brian’s full panting weight. Brian’s pullout made him gasp. Something that caught Brian’s immediate concern. 

“Fuck. I should’ve used more.” Brian rolled aside, tossed the lube at a pillow. 

“You weren’t going for blood?” 

“Why? Are you on the rag?” Brian removed and squinted at the condom in the dark. 

“I’m not a twat!” Justin swung back an open hand that smacked Brian in the ribs. 

“Ow! If I wanted a bouncer, I’d’ve picked up…” Brian cringed a silent “shit”, stretched to pitch the condom, rolled onto his back, hand to his sweaty forehead. He peeked at Justin, on his stomach faced away, stiff and still. 

Justin curled his arm, slid his hand beside his solemn face. “It’s okay.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“I know how you are.” 

“So why did you come back?” 

“I know how you are.” 

Justin felt Brian mold against him, hand easing circles over his back and shoulders. 

Brian trailed kisses from the back of Justin’s head to his ear where he stopped and whispered, “Promise me you won’t lie to me.” 

“Promise,” Justin swallowed, raised a tiny smile. “I think your green suit sucks.” Then he grit his teeth for the swat that never came. Instead, Brian’s arm rode along his own to twine fingers against his cheek. 

“We’ve got so damn much to work on.” 

Justin smiled at the “we” part, went grim again. “Brian, there’s something I-” 

The phone rang, startling them. 

Brian glanced at his clock, straddled Justin to snap up the receiver. “It’s two in the fucking morning. If you wanna stay alive, stay anonymous.” Then a quick, “Be right there.” Brian sprang to the bed edge and grabbed his pants. 

“What?” Justin propped up. 

“Get dressed. Make it quick.” 

“Why?” Justin rushed to keep up. 

 

* * * * *

The fever pitch was worse at the Novotny house, lit like morning. Plastic grocery bag in one hand, Debbie flew through the kitchen-nightgown, wigless gray hair framing a stark face of dread. 

Michael, jeans and tee-shirt beat her to the front door and threw it open. “Upstairs,” he pointed as he led two paramedics dashing after him. 

Debbie ran behind them, veered into the bathroom. She palmed a tear as she dumped bottle after bottle of pills into the bag, dropped one rolling under the toilet, “Shit!” and groped to find it through watering eyes. 

Brian’s hand snatched it, added it to the bag and eased Debbie up into a hug. 

“Shit, Brian, shit,” she leaned into his chest before pulling back to wipe eyes in a mad attempt for a tougher face. “His arm went numb…then chest pains…and…” she bit her bottom lip and sniffled. 

“We’ll talk later,” Brian eased her around and they both saw Justin in the doorway. 

“Sunshine,” she drew a feeble smile. 

“Justin. Help her get ready. I’ll get this,” Brian took the pill bag. 

“C’mon, Deb. It’ll be okay,” Justin held her arm and guided her out. 

In Vic’s room Ben gripped Michael’s shoulder as they stood aside watching gloved paramedics wrap Vic in a silver reflective blanket. 

“I’m okay now,” Vic said with tired embarrassment. 

“Seems that way,” answered Med One. He lifted his kit, tapped Med Two’s shoulder. “Going for the chariot. Be right back.” 

Med One pushed past Justin and Debbie, who’d recovered enough to glance inside and jab a finger at Vic. “You hang in there or I’ll never speak to you again, you shit,” before she moved on. 

Vic just rolled his eyes, stopped them on Brian’s entrance. “You, too?” 

“I heard there was a party, and I brought the drugs,” Brian smiled, dropped the bag on the bed and told Med Two, “These are all his meds.” 

“Good. We’ll need those.” 

Michael mouthed a silent Thank You to Brian then looked at Ben. “I wish he’d called the ambulance before he called me.” 

“You have any idea what an ambulance costs?” Vic shot. 

“Yeah. Merry Christmas,” Brian sidestepped to let Med One and the Driver assemble the stretcher and move Vic. 

With Justin looking past her shoulder, Debbie, dressed and recovered, edged into the room. “How is he?” 

“Stable, but we’re taking him in to be sure,” Med One answered, then to Vic, “We’re going for a little ride now, Pops.” 

“Pops? POPS?”

“We’ll follow you,” Michael assured. 

“You’ll do no such thing,” Vic directed the Meds,“Would you please get me outta here? I’m surrounded by drama queens.” 

“Yes, SIR,” Med One chuckled as he and Two wheeled Vic out. 

 

* * * * *

Presby Hospital waiting room echoed with the drifting squeaks, footsteps and low voices of quiet night activity in the corridor. 

Debbie noted Michael and Ben seated together…Brian and Justin. The bolt struck. 

“How’d YOU two get here so quick?” 

Justin glanced at Brian for any cue, quickly dropped his head when he saw Brian’s eyes stay on Debbie. 

Brian grabbed Justin’s hand and calmly smiled, “Solves THAT problem.” 

“Holy shit,” Debbie grinned. 

Michael raised a smug eye at Ben who answered with a resigned headshake. 

Justin flickered a smile, gripped Brian’s hand. He had geared to protect Brian’s pride, but this surprise bolstered his own. Brian-and-Justin officially existed again. 

Attention turned to a smiling Doctor who entered, scanned the gang and stopped eyes on Debbie. 

“I assume you’re the Flaming Foul-mouthed Redhead?” 

Debbie beamed like he just called her Marilyn Monroe. “Yeah. How is he?” Vic had to be okay for that line. 

The Doctor sat beside Debbie and spoke mainly to her, drifting his eyes once in awhile to include the others. “We can’t find anything abnormal for his situation…but we’re holding him tonight just in case. It doesn’t appear to be a drug reaction. More like a pronounced anxiety incident.” 

“What do you mean? Like an anxiety attack?” 

“You might want to just talk to him. See if he’s worried or stressed about something that might’ve happened recently. Other than that, he’s in good shape.” 

“Can I see him?” 

“For a few minutes,” the Doctor addressed the others, “But the rest of you might want to wait until visiting hours tomorrow?” 

Nods around the room satisfied the Doctor, who stood up. “I’ll take you back,” he told Debbie. 

She rose, primped her wig. “Thanks. All of you. You all got jobs. Now go home and get some rest,” she eyed Michael, “You, too. I’m staying here awhile.” 

Michael went to Debbie and hugged her. “Call me when you’re ready. I love you.” 

She nodded, left Michael’s arms and followed the Doctor out the door. 

Brian was up, out and three lengths ahead with Justin closing. Michael and Ben kept pace. 

“You’d think he lived here,” Michael watched Brian stride through the halls. 

Brian overheard, but didn’t respond. Familiarity with Presby wasn’t his fondest achievement. He felt Justin snatch his hand. 

“I’m glad Vic’s okay…but I’m with you on getting out of here. I hate the sounds and smells of this place. I guess you’d have to have been here to understand.” 

Brian just kept walking. Right past a nurse setting a chart on a door. She looked up in time to see a split-second profile of the man who’d spent many night hours with her during Justin’s recovery. Eager to say hi, she stepped back so quickly, Michael bumped her shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Michael smiled as he passed. 

By then, all she could see were Michael and Ben dashing into the open elevator. 

 

* * * * *

At the loft…

Brian studied his computer screen in the light of a desk lamp. Justin, wrapped in a sheet, floated from the darkness, stopped at the desk. 

“Are you coming to bed?” 

“I’ll only have to get up in a couple hours anyway,” Brian stood, stretched, leaned across the desk and kissed Justin’s cheek. “Now YOU get some sleep while I work on selling a DNA sequencer.” He sat down again, clicked a new image onto his screen, took a moment to watch Justin retire to the bedroom

Justin settled back into bed, ran his hand over Brian’s pillow, stared in muddled thought. Since leaving home, he’d always been with someone – Brian, Linz and Mel, Debbie, Emmett, Ethan – never really on his own. Twice he’d been caught floundering to survive when things didn’t work out. He wanted a self-support system this time. But how would Brian take it? 

At Ben’s apartment…

Ben shuffled in the bed covers, eyes staring in thought as he listened to computer keyboard clicks that finally drew him to the living room. 

“Come to bed, Michael.” 

Michael stared intently at his screen, the only light source. “This isn’t working.” 

“That’s because it’s been a rough night and you’re tired. So give it a rest.” 

“I’m staying up in case Mom calls,” he glanced at his Astro phone, back at his computer. “Besides that, orders aren’t up to where I hoped…I have like umpteen sales calls to do…make sure I get Vic home…” 

“You’re spreading yourself too thin,” Ben rubbed Michael’s shoulder. “Let Debbie handle Vic, give me half your calls-” 

“This is MY responsibility,” Michael swiveled around, “And I can handle it.” 

“Okay,” Ben raised both hands, turned away. 

Michael’s face changed to soft regret. He was tired. But he also took a big risk with the comic shop. A make or break personal risk, as if its very success defined him as a man of value. Like Brian. Or Ben. Then there were concerns of the heart, like Vic, battling for higher priority. Somewhere was a balance point. 

At Ted’s apartment…

Ted sat with his back against the headboard, eyes wide open. Beside him, Emmett rustled in dreamy sleep before resettling…and snoring like a shop vac. 

Ted grabbed a remote control from the nightstand, flicked on a small stereo, upped the volume on a classical station and glanced at Emmett for a wake-up reaction. None. If anything, Emmett’s snores went louder. 

Ted rolled his eyes shut to focus on the melody, cringed each time Emmett punctuated an upbeat with his own instrumental.

* * *

Brian plays computer keys; Michael pecks keys; Emmett snores. 

Song: “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik” (Little Night Music) by W A Mozart


	2. Dancing In The Fire

Friday at the office. A day to cap the week’s business and wind up for a hot hereafter. Unless it was no ordinary Friday. 

Cynthia hesitated beside Brian’s open door, took a breath and stepped into view. Seeing her well-dressed, captivating boss at his coffee bar, she tapped lightly on the doorframe rather than rattle him into an accident. 

“Yes?” Brian focused on pouring. 

“That’s your third cup,” Cynthia entered, “And it’s only ten. Rough night?” 

“I wouldn’t rank Presby with the baths.” 

“Not…” Cynthia held back Justin’s name, but Brian caught it. 

“Family member. Everything’s okay,” Brian smiled. 

“That’s good,” Cynthia strained, silently organizing her thoughts. 

“Anymore laps around the bush, you’ll weigh two pounds. Spill.” 

“Crater called. He wants more time to consider…another offer.” 

Brian took a sip, scowled,“From whom?” 

“He wouldn’t say. Just that he’d get back to us.” 

“Check my schedule. See if I can squeeze in a visit around lunch.” He thought a moment, rubbed his fingertips against a temple. “I’ll need a rental car. And Crater’s contract.” Brian expected Cynthia to leave, but she stayed planted. “There’s more?” 

“Hemmerback cancelled.” 

“What? Why?” Brian slammed his full cup down hard enough to spurt coffee onto the bar, glanced at his watch. “He agreed to sign today. We put HOURS into that account.” 

“He signed with Neville,” Cynthia almost felt compelled to duck Brian’s slay-the-messenger glare. 

“How the fuck did they get to him so fast?” 

Cynthia shook her head. “Hemmerbeck could be playing us.” 

Brian looked off, tapped a finger on the coffee bar. “Not that damned fast. Almost like Neville already knew what we had.” Brian shot Cynthia a furrow-brow. “Has Vance mentioned any problems with his accounts?” 

“Nothing I know of,” Cynthia shook her head, “But I’m not his assistant.” She watched Brian roll his lips tight in thought. “Anything I can do?” 

“Not unless you know any security experts.” 

“Yeah, I do,” her smile rode up. “He’s young, smart, discreet and cheap.” 

“Just what I had in mind,” Brian raised an interested brow. 

“Does that mean I get a raise?” 

“Go back to the ‘cheap’ part. And set up an interview as soon as you can.” 

“Yes sir,” she smiled, glad to see him more relaxed. The raise was worth a shot. Even if Brian did think it was a joke. 

 

* * * * *

Justin walked into Vic’s hospital room and was surprised to see him up and fully dressed. 

“Vic. What…” 

“Princess. I was just getting ready to leave. Soon as the wheelchair gets here…liability rules, you know.” Vic grabbed his plastic bag of pills off the bed. 

“Don’t they keep you till noon?” 

“Why? I look like I need to stay longer?” Vic grinned at Justin’s blush. “I wanted to get home before Sis so she wouldn’t go dragging Michael away from the store.” 

“How?” 

“Ever heard of the bus?” Vic opened his bag, added a box of tissue, tape, water bottle. “And what’re you doing here at nine AM on a school day?” 

“I took the day off for some personal stuff,” Justin watched Vic add another item. “You’re taking the spit trays?” 

“Well we PAID for all this. It’s not like they’re gonna use it again on somebody else.” 

“You could’ve called someone to get you. By the way, I borrowed Brian’s Jeep. But if you’d rather take the bus…” Justin shrugged and faked a departure. 

“I never turn down a hot blond with a sharp car.” 

A uniformed orderly rattled a wheelchair into the narrow room, spotted Justin. “Mr. Grassi?” 

“Thanks for the compliment,” Vic beamed, sat in the chair then twinkled at Justin, “Brian’s Jeep, hunh?” 

“I’ll meet you out front,” Justin smiled, winked and left. 

 

* * * * *

At the comic store, Ben leaned on the counter and watched Michael beam over the top of two checks gripped in both hands. 

“Our first paychecks on Rage,” Michael laid them on the counter. 

“You pay yourself?” Ben took one check and studied it. 

Michael felt compelled to answer Ben’s flat scrutiny. “Well…since this is the first year, I’m working with projections.” 

“I thought the first issue was a smash hit.” 

“One issue doesn’t make a season. Besides, that was mostly Brian. He gave us a start, now it’s up to us to make it work. On our own.” 

“Four hundred seventeen dollars a month is…decent,” Ben set the check down. 

Michael frowned, “Thanks for the vote of confidence. It COULD end up being a lot more. I just don’t know yet.” 

Ben smiled. “No small venture becomes great without courage and heart, and you certainly have a lot of both.” Ben leaned forward, kissed Michael’s lips and got a smile. “Now I’ve got students waiting.” 

Michael watched Ben go out the door before losing the smile. He snatched one check off the counter, looked at it and shook his head. He wanted to be thrilled by this first, but it was less then he’d expected. As was Ben’s reaction. So what about Justin. 

 

* * * * *

Steering through light traffic, Justin side-glanced Vic. 

“I don’t want to be nosy, but did they find anything?” 

Vic leaned back and thought a moment. “If I was smart, I should’ve rode it out…but…I guess I panicked a little…got everybody excited over nothing.” 

“I wouldn’t call chest pains nothing.” 

“I let myself worry too much, that’s all…and I let it get to me.” 

“Worried about what?” 

“Oh…nothing, really. Sometimes…thinking…it would’ve been nice to have some kids, or somebody to leave all my knowledge of my great life. I used to be a pretty damned good chef, you know,” Vic leaned forward and nodded. “But Michael’s not interested, and Sis does her own thing,” he leaned back again, looking useless and worn. 

“You could teach me,” Justin glanced for a response, saw Vic eye him steady. “I mean, I’ll be on my own, and it sure would be a good thing to know.” 

“I thought that you and Brian-” 

“It’s not like that. At least…not yet,” Justin broke in, eyes straight ahead. “So. What do you say?” 

“Well,” Vic’s brows knit then relaxed, “If you’re not doing anything after school Monday…” 

“You got it.” 

Vic straightened up, smiling with new life. “I thought we could start with-” 

And he rattled off a menu fit for a president while Justin drove, half-listening, half-thinking about Brian at the foot of the bed, far from ecstatic about…something…and not telling him what. 

 

* * * * *

At Torso’s, Emmett watched a young, leather-coated punk facing a rack, arms moving like he was jerking off. 

“Honey,” Emmett set a hand on his shoulder, got a startled face-off, “This isn’t the way we normally try things on at Torso’s.” He reached under the punk’s jacket, whipped out a silk shirt stolen from the rack, chirped, “Thanks for shopping. Don’t come back again,” as the punk tore out the door, pushing Justin inside. 

“Hi, Sweetie!” Emmett re-hung the shirt, noticed Justin’s quizzed look. “He was late for a date with a cop. So what’re you here for? Silk?” he stroked the shirtsleeve, slinked to the counter and fingered a glass-cased sweater,“Cashmere?” 

Justin stepped up, shook his head. “I just wanted to stop by and say thanks. For letting me stay with you. I’m moving out today and didn’t want you to just come home and find everything gone.” 

“Honey, you know it’ll be another month till I move in with Ted.” 

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” he raised his head with Taylor conviction. “I’ve got everything taken care of.” Well, not exactly yet. But in another hour. 

Emmett leaned on the counter, lowered his voice and chin, rolled his eyes up with a cheeky twinkle. “This doesn’t have anything to do with a certain Ad Exec?” 

Justin grinned,“News sure travels fast around here.” 

“If you want to keep a secret? Never tell anyone who knows a cell phone or Debbie,” Emmett leaned closer to Justin’s face. “You know you’ve got the biggest, baddest of them all. But if that’s what you want, I’m happy for you, Baby.” 

“I know more about him than you do,” Justin’s bright eyes blinked. “Maybe you should be more concerned about what HE’S getting.” He gave a cocky smile to cover his reservations. “Let me know if I owe you for anything. I’ll pay you when I drop off your key. Thanks again, Em.” 

Emmett watched Justin hike out the door, climb into Brian’s Jeep. For all the cocky smoke, a little hesitance hung in the resolve. That sense of…now that the chase is over…now what. Emmett’s eyes settled for a moment on a picture he’d taped under the glass counter. Him and Ted. His smile thinned as he looked up to see the Jeep blend into traffic, then back at the picture. That makes four of us, Baby. Now what. 

 

* * * * *

Michael volleyed attention between a couple teens in the comic racks, and Justin’s reaction to his first Rage paycheck. 

“Michael, I thought you said we’d make about a thousand a month.” 

“That was for both of us, not each of us.” 

“Well you didn’t make that clear.” 

“If I could swing more next month, I’ll do it.” 

“I can’t budget when I have to guess about my income every month.” Justin found himself also looking at the teens whose clowning was agitating Michael. 

“Look, this is all new to me and I’m doing the best I can. You’ll just have to trust me on it.” Michael left the counter, hot-footed over to the teens who were slapping each other with rolled comics. “Hey. That’s enough, you guys.” 

The discussion going nowhere, Justin shoved the check into his pocket and left Michael explaining shopping etiquette to the teens. 

In the Jeep, Justin shuffled through two different papers headed “Apartment Rental Agreement.” He looked at the first, cleanly professional. The second was smudged, streaked, obviously run on a bad copier. He leaned back, closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Snapping to financial reality, he reached into his pocket, pulled a ballpoint and scribbled his signature on the last page of the bad copy.

* * *

Brian drives a compact; Michael unrolls a damaged comic; Emmett finds a bare hanger on the rack; Ted yawns heavy-eyed over his calculator; Justin signs for an apartment. 

Song: “Some Days Are Better Than Others” by U2


	3. Dancing In The Fire

In the waiting area across from Cynthia’s desk, Justin sat in a plush chair, glanced at his watch. Almost four. 

Working at her computer, Cynthia felt Justin watching her from across the room. She smiled, got a return. So dazzling. What a waste of manhood. Well, not to Brian. 

“I should tell him you’re here.” 

“No, don’t. I’m an hour early and I don’t want to bother him.” 

Cynthia’s phone rang. She answered, “Kinney’s office. Who? Well, I left his name with you,” she frowned, drummed long nails on the desk. “Alright.” She hung up, called to Justin, “I have to go out to the lobby for a minute. Be right back.” 

“Okay,” Justin nodded then picked through his backpack for a sketchbook to occupy his time. 

Moments later, a gangly young guy with a laptop under his arm and wearing camouflage pants and black tee shirt strolled into the office, looked around, spoke with the soft clarity of a pediatrician. “Do you work here?” He walked over, sat next to Justin. 

Justin scrutinized the longish, wavy dark hair, wire-rimmed glasses on an average face. “No, I’m just waiting for somebody. Cynthia had to leave for a minute.” 

“Yeah. I left her in the lobby with the other secretary,” Gangly leaned close, snooped at Justin’s sketch. “Artist, hunh?” 

“More like an art student,” Justin shut the pad. Who WAS this guy? 

“I’m into computers myself,” Gangly opened the laptop, ran his hand across the edge like it was a love interest, powered it up. On screen, a little digital dog tore digital holes through the blank screen as a man’s audio voice hollered “Bad Dog!” Gangly drank in Justin’s bright eyes and chuckles. “Like it? It’s a screensaver called Bad Dog. I can burn you a copy.” 

“Thanks, but I’d need a computer first. That is amazing. How someone thought that up.” 

Gangly powered-off, closed the laptop, propped an elbow on it and parked his chin on a raised hand. “You’ve got access to a lot of art equipment, hunh?” 

“So?” Justin dropped his chin, eyes up and mildly suspicious. 

“I’ll pay you for some work, if you’re interested.” 

Justin shook his head, surprised,“We don’t even know each other.” 

“Chad Parker. UCLA. On break for a couple weeks,” he extended a hand. 

“Justin Taylor. Pittsburgh Fine Arts,” Justin shook his hand. “What kind of work?” 

“We can talk more later. Right now…I’m supposed to see this Brian Kinney guy. You know where his office is?” 

“Just down the hall,” Justin pointed, watched Chad jump up and hike that direction. “Wait. You can’t-” 

“Thanks. You can leave your number with my aunt Cynthia, if you’re interested.” 

Justin debated over chasing Chad, decided to let Brian deal with him. Some extra cash sounded good and Chad was related to Cynthia. Justin looked down at his sketchpad, folded and tore off a square of cover corner, scribbled a quick note.

 

* * * * *

Brian barely flinched from the chair behind his desk when Chad blocked his doorway. 

“Who the fuck are you, and how did you get past security?” 

“I AM your security, I think. Cynthia sent me. I take it you’re Mr. Kinney?” 

“And you’re Chad. Third year UCLA. Did the airlines lose your luggage?” he eyed the urban-subversive wear. 

“No,” Chad shrugged with innocent honesty. “I usually travel light and keep it with me.” 

Ooookaaaay. An uninsultable. “So you’re a security agent.” 

“War driver, to be more accurate.” 

“A terrorist?” Brian’s face twisted. 

“LAN jack.” That got a dead stare. “Computer hacker?” Success. 

“How much did Cynthia tell you?” Brian waved toward the chair beside his desk. 

“She said you’d explain,” Chad sat down, “But nobody calls me unless they have a system security leak, so unless you have something to add. . . .” 

“Qualifications?” 

Chad set his laptop on Brian’s desk, opened it, started up. He pulled a small black cigarette-pack sized item, plugged it into the laptop. “Antenna,” he briefed, set the unit on the desk, worked the keyboard and read the screen. “Right now, you have three access points open and running on the second floor…one down the hall.” 

Brian rose, came around the desk. Chad leaned back to give Brian a better view of four computer ID codes listed on screen. Brian’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t decipher the codes and it burned him to admit it. “Explain.” 

Chad highlighted one code, ran fingers on the keyboard until the screen filled with a contract. “Crater and Sons. One of yours?” Chad looked up. 

Brian gripped the back of Chad’s chair as he read the screen. “How did you do that?” 

“Somebody down the hall is WiFi’ng…uh…using a wireless system with a factory password. I just tapped in and accessed your database. I could’ve done it just as easily from a car parked outside.” 

“Someone inside is sending out our files?” 

“Not really. Most people are ignorant about wireless laptops and don’t realize they’re being tapped.” 

“Can you find and fix the problems?” 

“Sure. As soon as we come to an agreement on pay.” 

“You’ll be working only for me,” Brian lifted a brow, both eyes wide. 

“I HAVE done this before, Mr. Kinney,” Chad responded with a steady gaze. 

Brian was impressed with this easy-going geek, but troubled by his fast access of guarded files. He wondered who else was aware of it. And for how long. His musing ended when Chad clapped the laptop shut. 

 

* * * * *

In the near-empty underground parking lot, Brian pulled the Jeep door shut, leaned over the passenger side and grabbed Justin for a serious greeting kiss. 

“So did you get a lot done today?” Brian nuzzled Justin’s ear. 

“Took Vic home…saw Emmett…got my first paycheck from Michael.” 

“Congratulations. We should celebrate.” 

“Maybe a small celebration. Very, very small,” Justin wrinkled his nose. 

Brian paused, sensed a good time to change the subject. “So what are your plans for tonight?” 

“Nothing. Why?” 

“I thought we could have dinner…go to Babylon.” 

“Are you asking me on a date?” Justin smiled, raised his brows. 

Brian withdrew his hold, started up the Jeep. “I don’t do dates.” 

Justin grinned and folded his arms over his chest. “I can’t see why not. It’s just another four-letter word.” He sneaked a look at Brian’s stony face as the Jeep left the lot for the street. 

“So?” Brian finally broke the silence. 

“So what?” 

“Yes or no?” 

“Yes,” Justin said very matter of fact, added a flip, “Brian Kinney asked me for a date.” 

“Your ass could use some color,” Brian side-eyed. 

“Don’t tease me.” 

“We’ll discuss that later. Are you going to Emmett’s or coming to the loft?” 

Justin shifted, cleared his throat. “I have my own place now.” His eyes caught a traffic light coming too fast. “Red light!” 

Brian hit the brakes hard, rocking their bodies forward. His jaw flinched despite his calm face. “When did all THAT happen?” 

“Can we just go to the loft? Talk about it there?” 

“What for? So you found your own place. Good.” 

The rest of the ride was in silence. 

 

* * * * *

The loft shower. Where the actual shower was usually a mere afterthought. Not tonight. Justin noted that when he stepped in, Brian stepped out. So he stepped back out and stood dripping, watching Brian towel off. 

“You haven’t asked me why I left Em’s.” 

“Because fuchsia isn’t your color?” Brian tossed his towel at Justin and left. 

Justin caught the towel, quick-dried, wrapped the towel around his waist and stood in the doorway, watched Brian zip up his pants, grab a shirt. “I thought we needed our space. After…everything. Talk to me, Brian. I’m feeling like I did something to piss you off.” 

Brian stopped buttoning, sorted answers. I thought you wanted us together. Fucking. Sleeping. Waking up, sharing coffee, eating take-out, showering, talking…talking? NOW who’s the one with the fucking fairytale. “I guess I was a little surprised by the late notice.” 

“I just signed the papers today.” 

“So where is it?” 

“You could find out anytime you want, but I’d rather you wait.” 

“Oh. The secret place to run to,” Brian snorted and skipped down steps to the kitchen. Go ahead. Start shutting me out. I need a goddamn drink. 

“Brian,” Justin moved to the edge of the glass doors and glared, “I’m not taking any more shit about my running out. Every time I leave doesn’t mean I’m running away. Maybe that’s how I deal with things. How I make time to put things together before saying something I can’t take back, or doing something…dumb,” he dropped his eyes, shuffled a foot on the doorstep. “Maybe I just want some control in my life. And not feel like I owe somebody something.” 

Brian had poured his drink, let it sit. Nothing worse than feeling indebted and out of control. So he conceded his understanding by approaching Justin slowly, head tilting back to keep eyes linked to those on the top step…slipped his arms around Justin’s hips. 

Justin draped his arms over Brian’s shoulders and kissed his upraised forehead. “Is that so wrong?” 

“Nothing wrong with getting your needs met.” 

“What about yours?” 

“You’ll stay here once in awhile?” 

“That’s back to MY needs.” 

Brian wet his lips, hooked his thumbs under the towel, pulled until it fell to a pile at Justin’s feet, and gained new appreciation for the convenience of this top stop. 

Justin focused on Brian’s sensual mouth on him. Taking him. Draining him. It made him melt, float, dream. One hurdle cleared. Now on to the next. 

 

* * * * *

The Jeep squeezed into a spot in Babylon’s lot. Brian got out. Justin did the same. They met at the rear bumper and stood side-by-side, reading the Babylon sign. Justin moved first, slowly riding an arm around Brian’s waist, eyes searching Brian’s. 

Brian looked into Justin’s eyes. He could stop or start it right now. Walk in alone. Or as part of a couple. He wrapped his arm around Justin’s shoulders and smiled. 

Walking to the door, faces forward, they couldn’t see their expressions change. Neither was sure what to expect.

* * *

Brian and Justin walk together into Babylon. 

Song: “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” by Queen


	4. Dancing In The Fire

Brian with Justin at Babylon drew less attention than expected. A few whispers, some groans. But this wasn’t Woody’s. In this den of ever-changing partners, finding the perfect man always took higher priority than dwelling on someone else’s relationship. Many expected Brian to tour the back room regardless. Nothing new. 

“Beam straight up?” Justin yelled over the music, saw Brian’s brow rise. “Your drink.” 

Brian nodded and watched Justin take off down the bar to flag the bartender. Fuck, this kid was priceless. 

Emmett bounded from the dance floor to Brian’s side. “Brian!” 

“How’s it goin’?” Ted, sweaty and winded, caught up. 

“Where’s Justin?” Emmett craned around. “I thought… ” 

“That’s a first,” Brian grinned at Emmett’s wry face. “He’ll be back in a minute.” 

“I’m so happy for you!” Emmett gushed. 

“For what?” 

Ted glimpsed Brian’s face, quickly pulled Emmett’s arm and leaned into his ear. “Em? This is Brian? Let’s not assume.” Then louder to Brian, “He means Turner Construction. We saw the ad in today’s paper. Perfection,” Ted raised a thumb-to-forefinger salute. 

Brian nodded acceptance. Couldn’t hot-ass THAT comment. 

Emmett added a delayed smile, eyes widening when he saw Justin returning with three drinks. “Hi, Sweetie!” he swiveled around Brian to get to Justin. 

“Hey, Em. Careful,” Justin set the drinks on the bar, spilling them slightly when Emmett’s arm circled his waist. 

Emmett kissed his ear with a discreet, “I thought you told me-” 

“Quiet, Em. Okay?” Justin’s eyes scanned Emmett’s, got a zip-mouth sweep of a hand before Emmett moved back to Ted. 

“What are you two whispering?” Brian reached for a drink, saw three glasses, “And whom did we leave out?” he smiled at Ted, got a flat stare. 

Justin handed one glass to Brian. “Some guy down there bought me another drink.” 

“Oh? Who?” 

Ted whispered to Em, “Obviously someone new and stupid.” Then loudly, “Let’s dance!” he took Emmett’s hand and pulled against Emmett’s craving to see Brian’s reaction. He himself would rather have had a drink. 

Justin turned and pointed about ten people down. “White ascot, black shirt.” 

Pleased by Justin’s attention, the older, grayed man shot a crooked-toothed smile. Brian stepped against Justin’s back, wound an arm around his chest and mouthed the guy a silent Thank You so pronounced, it should’ve been heard. Maybe it was. The man ducked over his drink like a cast-off lone wolf. Brian grinned wide. Alpha had its perks. 

Justin pressed his hand over Brian’s. One more sign to the world that they were definitely with each other. One that Brian initiated. So far so good. 

“Justin!” Nerdy from PIFA Copy Shop and a handsome Asian boy strolled up smiling. 

“Hey!” Justin smiled his surprise, then to Brian, “This is Harry. My boss from the Copy Shop…and?” Justin gestured to the Asian boy. 

“This is Tom. Computer Programmer,” Harry answered. 

“This is Brian, my…,” Justin tensed, sight-checked Brian. 

“Boyfriend,” Brian finished with an amused smile. Not much of a test. Two PIFA’sweren’t exactly a challenge to his image concerns. Although that Asian looked…shit. Stop.

Justin relaxed, offered, “Want a Teachers and ginger ale? I’ve got one extra.” 

Tom shook a no. “Scotch makes your cum taste bitter.” 

Justin shot Brian a“Really?” 

“Just what I want to talk about,” Brian shut his eyes, touched the bridge of his nose. 

Ted and Emmett returned parched and sweaty with Ted mumbling “Beer…beer…” like a desert victim. 

Brian hailed the bartender. “Two beers for the dying.” 

“Ted, Emmett,” Justin scanned their group, “This is Harry and his friend Tom.” 

Emmett chirped, “Tom and Harry. Do you have a Dick?” 

Brian rolled his eyes, Justin dropped his head onto folded hands on the bar and muffled a laugh, Ted corner-eyed his partner. 

“I…don’t know how to answer that,” Harry shook his head. 

“That was a joke,” Emmett was lost, looked at Justin who had finally recovered enough to rejoin the group. “See? HE thinks it’s funny.” 

“Do you know why?” Brian dead panned. 

Ted grabbed a beer in each hand, tapped one against Em’s arm. “Have a drink. It’ll come to you.” 

Tom smiled at the group. “Well, nice meeting you all,” and to Harry, “Let’s go check out the sound system.” 

“Party on, dudes,” Harry and Tom moved on. 

“Is that some new line?” Emmett’s brows rose. “Who comes to Babylon to check out the sound system?” 

Justin held his scotch up to Brian’s view. “Should I drink this?” 

Brian stared a silent get-over-it. 

“Oh…my…god,” Emmett covered his mouth with a hand and took a laughing fit. 

Ted checked his watch. “Congratulations. You beat your last record.” 

“That’s not funny,” Emmett instant-calmed, steel-eyed Ted. 

“All I said was-” 

“It was how you said it,” Emmett perched a hand on his hip. “And since when do we go insulting me in front of our friends?” 

“When WE can’t take a joke…or even get one.” 

Justin set his drink down. “Ted, I don’t think-” 

Brian quickly grabbed the front of Justin’s shirt, “Let’s dance,” and led him away. 

On the dance floor, Brian saw Harry watching from halfway up the stairs before speaking to Tom. Then they both bounded down to the main floor and edged along a back wall to a door Brian remembered was marked “Authorized Personnel Only” . He’d used it himself once. For checking out a light-and-sound-system operator. 

Justin watched Ted and Emmett banter with pointing fingers, broad arm movements and near nose-to-nose contact before they shouted and stormed off in opposite directions. As he stepped closer to tell Brian, he saw a tall Beefcake brush Brian’s shoulder, whisper whatever while rolling eyes toward the back room. And Brian smiled at him. Fuck. 

Justin spun around, backed into Brian’s embrace and started a little hip-roll bump and grind designed to raise interest in five…four…three…two…

“Let’s go back to the loft,” Brian whispered in Justin’s ear. When Justin gave a smug nod, Brian added, “And don’t think you had me fooled for a second.” 

“I have to make a quick pit stop. Be here when I get back?” Justin stole a look at Beefcake hanging close and grinning like a hyena smelling blood. 

“No,” Brian watched Justin’s face droop, grabbed his shoulders and gave him a light kiss. “I’ll be at the bar.” 

After Justin brightened and dashed off, Brian nodded to Beefcake who shadowed him to a quieter spot behind a pillar. A good place to grip a guy by the collar and practically spit in his face. 

“I’m already with a real man. And if I wasn’t, you’d be the last on my list. Now stay the fuck away from me.” 

Brian released his grip and left the man gasping in shock. Justin had never asked him to change his ways. Brian didn’t intend to. But he modified his right to act on his desires by being more discriminating. Not an obligation. A matter of respect. For a man who chose to love just one, when it would have been so much easier to fuck a hundred. 

Babylon’s bathroom fought for honors with the backroom. Despite careless bumps from drugged bodies, Justin relieved himself, read the janitor’s latest wall note; It’s Not As Long As You Think – Stand Closer. 

“Justin.” 

Harry. Pissing beside him and not looking shy at all. 

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Justin withdrew and zipped up. 

“I’m not,” Harry shrugged, also repacked. 

An incensed young Space Queen poked Harry’s shoulder. “So what’re you doin’ here? Checkin’ out how the queeeeer boys do it? BREEDER ALERT!” Queen commanded an audience. “We got a straight guy-” 

“Hey. Fuck off,” Justin shoved Queen aside. “He’s with me.” Then low to Harry, “C’mon.” 

They washed up quickly and left Queen playing is-he-or-isn’t-he while the others went back to business as usual. 

Harry hiked down stairs behind Justin and shouted over thumping music. “Sorry about that. The gay dudes I know are pretty accepting.” 

“Yeah, well sometimes there’s a stand-out in the crowd.” Like Asshole Hobbs. “So what ARE you doing here?” Justin turned the corner and stopped. 

“Tom’s gay…visiting from Frisco. Since he’s my guest and we had nothing better to do…we told the guard we were working on the sound system and he let us in.” 

“So where’s Tom now?” Justin panned the masses. 

“He really liked that one friend of yours.” 

“Brian,” Justin exhaled. Who else. 

“I thought you said his name was Ted.” 

“Ted?” Justin’s face twisted. “You mean…that geeky-looking…” Geek. Bingo. 

“I’m…not sure what you mean,” Harry shook his head. 

Justin’s mind spun. Ted. An exotic admirer. Emmett. Brian alone…and if THAT wasn’t an oxymoron. Shit. “C’mon.” Justin plowed through dancers. 

Harry veered off. “I hafta find Tom.” 

At the bar, Brian was scoping the scene more from habit than desire when he heard a Loser Cruiser pipe up to his meek buddy, obviously for Brian’s sake. 

“Brian Kinney. He’s not so hot. Had to go crawling after his twink to take him back.” 

Cooling the heat, Brian casually turned to face him. “You think you’ve got something better to interest me?” 

Charged by the prospect, Cruiser moved seductively close. “My Olympic-size pole.” 

“I’m impressed. Why don’t you curve it down and go fuck yourself?” 

Emmett’s unexpected, “That’ll work?” over Brian’s shoulder drowned out Cruiser’s“Asshole,” made Brian turn away from his departing heckler and roll eyes onto Emmett. 

“I won’t even dignify that,” he lifted and swigged his drink. 

“I thought Michael and Ben were supposed to be here.” 

“They’re probably tied up. One or the other.” 

“Where’s Justin?” Emmett swiveled a look around. 

“He went to the little boys’ room and fell in. Where’s the Porn King?” 

“Teddy-” Emmett defensively stressed, “-is…” his face went long and away. “Somewhere. We had a little tiff. It’s not working out the way I thought.” 

“You know what I think about best friends fucking each other.” Brian smiled past Emmett’s shoulder at a Rustic Stud with a take-me grin, stroking the length of his fly. 

Emmett side-glanced at the distraction. “I MUST be desperate to talk to YOU, of all people, about a relationship.” He huffed off, disgusted. 

Smacked by the comment, Brian cut his eyes from Stud to his drink. He knew all about relationships. How they came and went. And got fucked up. And hurt. So why get into it? Why? 

“Brian!” Justin bounded over and hugged him in time to halt Stud from moving in. “Thanks for waiting for me.” 

Like it was a fucking gift. Brian stared at Justin, kissed him. Maybe this was why. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“Shouldn’t we tell the others we’re leaving?” 

“Now.” He was tired. Fought the back room beckons with the bitter aftertaste of driving Justin away. Relived how full and good and right it was to have him back. Only to fuck it up over a quickie? Not ever in his face again. Ever. 

Justin felt Brian’s arm around him like a vice, a force marching him to the door. He wanted to ask why, but knew this mood. Someone said or did some shitty thing that would probably die with him. At least I know it wasn’t me. 

Sitting in the Jeep and hearing Brian’s heavy exhale, Justin risked a word. 

“Anything I can do?” 

Brian took his hand off the wheel, took in Justin’s concern. Yeah. Something sweet, hot and pure that didn’t reek of phony and empty. He wrapped his arms around Justin and mashed their bodies together in a kiss to make any voyeurs cum just from the sight. 

Framed unnoticed in Brian’s rearview mirror, Ted and Tom stood in the parking lot, oblivious to fleeting strobes on their own kiss. 

The mirror also caught Emmett, standing and watching from the corner of the building. He slowly closed his eyes, lowered his head and disappeared back to Babylon.

* * *

Brian and Justin kiss; Ted and Tom kiss; Emmett leans his bleary-eyed head on the shoulder of a pick-up dancer in Babylon. 

Song: “Amazing Kiss (Thunderpuss Japanese Club Mix)” by BoA


	5. Dancing In The Fire

Morning light did nothing to rouse Justin, on his side, snuggled in covers and lightly snoring. 

Brian, wide awake and dressed only in sweat pants crept up slowly, worked himself onto the bed and spooned against Justin’s back. No response. 

“Hey,” Brian blew in his ear. 

Justin gasped, raised a hand to brush off the offender and jerked back an elbow that accidentally caught Brian’s gut. 

“Ahh! Fuck!” Brian rolled back gripping his stomach and almost fell off the bed. 

“Jesus, Brian,” Justin went flat back, tangled in covers. “I thought you were Wolfram.” 

“Who the fuck is Wolfram?” 

“The cat,” Justin rubbed his sleepy eyes, watched Brian stand. “And let’s not go anywhere near there. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Justin pushed the covers down past his waist and stretched long. 

“Yeah, and paybacks are hell.” 

Aroused by the sight, Brian pounced on Justin, layered kisses over his neck and chest. He rested his head on Justin’s shoulder, felt Justin’s hand ease through his hair, his voice resonate. 

“I don’t have to be at the diner till five. So what’s on the agenda for today?” Justin watched Brian’s rising head crack a you-know-what sinister smile. “I mean…

afterwards.” 

Brian huffed a breath, settled on his side, propped his head on a raised hand. “Anything you want to do. It’s your call.” His free hand leisurely traveled down Justin’s chest, slipped under the covers. Justin stroked Brian’s arm. 

“I want to go to the Mall.” 

Zonk. The fucking Mall? On SATURDAY? Brian’s hand slowed momentum in curls of hidden hair. “Where do you want me to drop you off?” 

“I mean…with you,” Justin tried again. “Emmett says-” 

“Now THERE’S a real expert,” Brian flopped onto his back, mood dampened. 

Justin rose and turned to hover over him. “Emmett says you can learn a lot about someone by watching him shop. And I want to know everything about you,” Justin kissed Brian’s lips. Flattery or bribery, he wasn’t giving up. 

Brian’s hand skimmed down Justin’s back and under the covers, slowly roamed the curves of his ass. “Everything?” 

“Uh huh,” Justin smiled. 

Brian almost said that would take a galaxy lifetime. Ah, what the hell. 

 

* * * * *

The Mall teemed with every form of life on the planet. Maybe a few other planets. 

As they walked along, Brian watched Justin’s eyes dart from faces, to window treatments, to just suncast shadows from the skylights. Eyes of a true artist. Ever searching for the simple to make spectacular. He wondered when he’d lost that for himself. That fascination for emotion in the posture of someone’s hand or the fall of a shadow. 

Justin glimpsed Brian on the sly, catching a brief smile when they passed a baby in a stroller…or a guy who stared too long. Would some things ever change. Then there were moments when Brian would spend a little more time with a silk tie, or soft sweater. Beautiful, sensual things no true hard-ass could appreciate. He’d flicker a look that put Justin in the same context. Just a flicker. But Justin noticed. 

“Let’s stop here,” Justin veered toward a shop whose windows sported bright paintings of birds. 

Brian followed, looked up with favor at a neon “EXOTICA” sign. 

Another example of deceptive advertising. 

“A pet store?” Brian listened to the cheeps and squawks of rare birds, trailed Justin past aquariums of colorful salt-water dwellers. 

Justin stopped at a row of glass tanks. “I need something alive and unusual with not much upkeep.” 

“You’ve got me.” 

“Two out of three isn’t bad.” 

“Oh? I thought you liked how much I keep it up.” 

“Bri-an,” Justin slowly scanned around. 

“How about a couple of these?” Brian pointed to a tank of hermits, bent near Justin’s ear. “Then I can tell everybody Justin has crabs.” 

“Pick two and buy them for me, so I can tell everybody I got ‘em from you,” Justin rolled his eyes, moved to the next tank and tilted his head. The snake looked like a peaceful prospect. Until Brian got in his ear. 

“I’ll nail your balls to a rail.” 

Justin winced, stepped to the next tank. The tarantula that ate Brooklyn. 

Brian grabbed Justin’s shoulders in both hands and moved him back to the snake. 

Soon after, Justin walked out of the store empty-handed. “I can’t believe they want two-hundred dollars for a snake.” 

“For that amount of money you should get something that at least has character and attitude,” Brian stalled at the front window, drawn by a sight he’d missed on the way in. A mature, gold-eyed Russian Blue cat sitting proud. 

Justin glanced back, caught Brian’s raised brow as he and the cat assessed each other’s worthiness. 

“Ooooh no,” Justin grabbed Brian’s hand and pulled. “One character with attitude is all I can handle.” 

Justin saw that grin again, flung Brian’s hand aside. “What a gutter mind.” But he said it with a smile. 

Later, in a high-end store bedding section, Brian was on one side of a tall rack and holding a packaged dark blue sheet. Then it struck without warning. Couple shock. His face tensed, he nearly flung the package back on the shelf, then closed his eyes and took a slow breath. 

On the opposite side of the rack, Justin considered a wild-patterned dark sheet. 

“Justin.” Jennifer Taylor lit like a halogen. “You should have called me.” 

“Mom,” he re-shelved the sheet and hugged her. 

Jennifer’s eyes widened and dimmed at the sight of Brian rounding the shelf unit and closing behind Justin. Brian. Justin. Bed sheets. Her stiff release and forced smile said all. “Hello, Brian.” 

“Mrs. Taylor,” he nodded, gracious to the ice but grateful for the outlet. “Justin. I have to go. Why don’t you and your Mom have a nice lunch together, then she can drop you home?” 

Justin gaped at him, saw his hazel eyes darken. “Sure,” he edged a smile. “Later.” 

“Later. Nice to see you, Mrs. Taylor,” he tipped a smile and strode away. 

“Honey,” Jennifer pulled Justin’s attention back, “What…” How to put this. “Is…uh…aren’t you going with that nice boy, Ethan?” 

“What’s wrong with Brian?” 

Jennifer’s eyes flit around, stopped on an older lady whose nearby browsing and darting eyes betrayed her interest. Jennifer snapped to casual mode. “Well. Nothing. Where would you like to eat?” 

With Brian. “Anywhere you want is fine with me,” he shrugged and smiled, couldn’t help glancing back to see if Brian was lurking. 

Jennifer noticed, also looked and was satisfied he was gone. “I know just the place,” she turned up the aisle. “They make a burger that you wouldn’t believe.” 

 

* * * * *

Brian started the Jeep, reached for the shift. His cell rang. He leaned back listening to the ringing, thinking it was Justin. They’d shopped together in the past. Walked the park, caught a flick. So what was he giving greater power. The pleasure of being with one person? Or the pain of losing it? He drew the phone from his pocket, quirked a brow at the caller ID, answered. 

 

* * * * *

Justin walked beside his Mother, eyes still searching. Brian seemed all right until her cool reception. 

“Mom, Brian and I are seeing each other again.” 

“I guessed as much,” she looked straight ahead, decided that as long as they kept walking, no one could listen in. “But I wish you’d let go. A man his age-” 

“Don’t start with the age shit.” 

“Justin, please let me finish,” she raised a hand. “He’s had his fun, and he can’t give you that.” 

“You don’t know anything about Brian. He can’t give me that because his life WASN’T fun. But that doesn’t mean he can’t find it…with me.” 

“If you pass up the good times of being young-” she stopped at a wilting tree in the mall garden and faced him, “-you may someday regret it. Maybe someday…resent HIM for it.” 

“What do you call the good times of being young? Hanging out drinking with the frat boys? Hooting at the football games?” he kept his voice low, “Tallying all the guys we fu…did?” 

“Justin.” 

“I don’t need all that. I don’t want all that. Don’t you understand?” 

“I don’t want you to regret…keeping locked to one person…who won’t stay locked to you.” 

“This isn’t about me and Brian, is it?” Justin narrowed on her wide eyes. “It’s about you and Dad.” 

Jennifer glanced off, bit her lip, faced him and stepped closer. “It’s about knowing more than you do,” she touched his arm, “…and hoping you’ll listen…and make wise choices.” 

“I’m not some dumb little kid. I know what I want.” 

“I never doubted that.” 

“Then trust me.” 

Checkmate. 

Jennifer stared in silence. No would drive Justin away; yes would bless a relationship she didn’t condone. She knew what Justin wanted, but what about Brian. “Okay.” She nodded, but didn’t smile. Stalemate. 

 

* * * * *

A library conference room. That’s where Chad asked to meet. Brian stood beside him at a long table where a couple folders sat beside his briefcase and Chad’s laptop. Brian tensed while reviewing a five-page report of English and jargon. 

Chad skimmed a finger down a list on Page One. “We know there were definitely four access points open,” flipped to Two. “You can ban wireless, but some people get offended by that. It’s easier to change all the passwords to random alpha-numerics. Not names or words. I listed some small fixes but your best bet is a firewall with a router-” 

“Laymen’s terms please?” 

“Protective devices?” 

“Better.” Brian flipped to the last page. “That’s quite a price range. Three to twenty-six thousand.” 

“Vanguard could do okay mid-range. I listed only the best software programs.” 

“How will I know it works?” 

“I’ll do a couple drives…see if I pick up any ID’s. You can come with me if you want.” 

“I’ll think about it. Is that everything?” Brian opened his case, put the report inside and shut it. 

Chad’s paused. “I asked a friend of yours to help out. Justin Taylor.” 

“What?” Brian drummed his fingers on his briefcase. 

“We met in your office. I checked him out with Aunt Cyn and I know you’re good friends.” 

“Why Justin, and why didn’t you check with me first?” Brian seethed. 

“Mr. Kinney, we agreed I could work on my own project while doing yours. He’s got access to some equipment I need. Besides, me hanging around Vanguard looks too suspicious. But he’s known well enough so if I get questioned, I’m a friend of Justin’s.” 

“You’re not using Justin,” Brian fumed. 

“Nobody’s using him. I told him I’d pay him, and he’s interested. So it’s really a deal between me and Justin. I’m telling you so you know that from now on, if I’m around, it’s because I’m working on a project with him…and not you or your assistant.” 

Brian didn’t like the setup. But Chad had a point. And two college students on a project were none of his business. Wasn’t that how goddamned Ethan started. “I’ll have to run this by Mr. Vance before we commit.” 

“You’ve got my number.” 

Not quite, but working on it. “I’ll be in touch.” He picked up his briefcase and left wondering if his gaydar was off, or if computer nerds were too cross-wired to register easily. Fuck. When did he start scrutinizing everything with a dick near Justin. 

Chad watched Brian turn the corner out of sight, then fished through a folder until he found Justin’s note. 

 

* * * * *

At the Liberty Diner, Brian set his coffee down, eyed Justin seated across from him. 

“The answer is no.” 

“Come on, Brian. It’s just dinner.” 

Debbie heard, flew in with a wide smile. “What’s with the long faces? Babylon close down?” 

“My Mom invited us to dinner-” 

“You,” Brian corrected. 

“I can bring someone if I want,” Justin countered, slid from the booth, pulled a check pad from his apron and stormed over to a group of new customers. 

Debbie perched a hand on a hip, leaned a flat palm on the table and stared a what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you look. “You know, he’s proud of you and wants to be seen with you. Couldn’t you just do this one thing for him? Or is it. . . god help me…” Debbie stared up, shook her head and looked back, “-too fucking couple-y for you?” 

Oh she was good. Brian didn’t have a quick comeback, but Michael saved him. 

“Hi, Mom, Brian.” 

“Hi, Honey.” 

Michael craned back to Justin at the far end, “I guess Justin must still be mad about that paycheck,” he slid into the booth. “I said hi and he growled ‘he’s back there’.” He stared at Debbie, Brian. “Did I walk in on something?” That got him a double barrel round. 

Debbie started, “Mr. I Don’t Do Dates won’t go to Justin’s Mom’s for dinner.” 

Brian finished, “Mrs. President of the Fiddle-Lovers Fan Club didn’t request my presence.” 

“Jennifer is a very open-minded and wonderful lady,” Debbie flared at Brian. 

Michael quietly looked up, “Like you were when I brought Ben for dinner?” 

“That was different,” Debbie toned down. 

“I think she’d rather see Justin with someone else, too,” Michael pressed. 

“Well,” Debbie primped her wig, looked at Justin sulking near the door, “If she does, she’ll keep right on feeling that way unless you two do something to change it. I got orders up.” And she trooped to the pickup station. 

Brian enjoyed the exchange for his benefit, watching his best friend in action. 

“Don’t look so smug,” Michael squinted. “I know you hate couple shit. You should do it for Justin, though.” 

Fuck. It WAS genetic. 

“Because he’s proud of me and wants to be seen with me?” Brian looked off with a sarcastic huff. 

“No. Because you’re proud of HIM, and want to be seen with HIM.” 

A trap. A revelation. Brian side-eyed Michael’s steady gaze, tensed his lips, brushed a hand over the back of his neck. Then he stretched around and waved Justin over. 

“So what did you want to see me about?” Brian volleyed eyes from Michael to Justin who was taking his stubborn time. 

“Nothing important,” Michael shrugged. 

“Mikey,” Brian pried. 

Justin stepped up with a curt, “Can I get you anything else, Sir?” 

Michael slid from the booth. “I’ll catch you later,” to Brian, and, “See ya, Justin.” He clipped a “Bye, Mom,” to Debbie behind the counter. 

“You just got here,” she called to his back before she was distracted by “I asked for decalf,” from a disgruntled patron. 

Michael stopped at the door, turned to see Debbie apologizing to the patron, Justin listening to Brian. He went outside, stopped on the corner, pulled a folded paper from his pocket, opened and read his scrawled Sales Pitch with all its scratched out words and rewrites. He closed his eyes, whispered, “I can do this,” crunched the paper into his pocket, hardened his look and headed up the street.

* * *

Michael walks past the diner window; Justin kisses Brian. 

Song: “Emerge” by Fischerspooner


	6. Dancing In The Fire

Daylight filtered through the blinds onto Justin and Brian, sitting on the Loft couch. 

Brian kissed Justin, pulled back. “So you blew off Church with Mom.” He was out of his dark tee in a fluid move, set it on his lap. 

“I wanted to see you. Can’t stay long, though. I have a lot of work to do-” Justin whipped off his sweater, spread it on the cold leather beside him. “-but I don’t want to get into that. Dinner’s set for next Sunday. Why didn’t you ever come to Mom’s for dinner before?” 

“Because you never asked?” 

“Oh,” Justin winced. Come to think about it…

“And I probably would have said no anyway,” Brian added. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything offensive.” 

“But I want you to be you.” 

Brian mulled tongue-in-cheek, let it pass. “Right now…” he unbuttoned Justin’s pants, “…I think we should…” unzipped them, “…unwind a little.” One arm eased Justin back onto the sweater, the other hand stroked hard cock through cotton briefs. 

Justin watched Brian shift to stretch out and loom over him. “You know, there are ab-men…pec-men…” 

“Up.” 

Justin raised his hips, felt a hot hand slide his pants down, spread the tee, squeeze a cheek. “You’re definitely an ass. Ow! No pinching!” he rubbed the spot, dropped flat. 

“That was one crack too many.” 

“See? Ass. Definitely.” 

“What about you?” Brian flung Justin’s pants aside, quickly shucked his own pants and settled between Justin’s legs. 

“Umm…eyes,” he closed his as Brian lowered onto him, breaths heavy. “Lips.” 

“What a coincidence,” Brian kissed him. 

“But mainly…” Justin looked down, grasped Brian’s stiff cock and worked it slowly. 

Brian expelled a long breath through his open mouth. Justin’s hand undulated with a sensual touch. So different from tricks who used rigid motions like they were cleaning off a rolling pin. “So you like cock, and I like ass. I’d say we’re a match.” 

“I don’t mind a little ass.” 

“Are you asking?” 

“No. But if I do, you’ll be the first one to know.” 

“And if I disagree?” 

Justin watched Brian’s eyes drill unblinking. “I’d still like cock.” 

Brian dove into a deep, long kiss. He had his own definition of equality: This is what I’m like. This is WHAT I like. No explanation, no apologies. Take it or leave it – equal choice. 

Justin kissed back with intensity. I understand, I accept. This is what I’m like. This is WHAT I like. This is part of why I’m with you. 

The doorbell razzed. 

Motion froze as both eyed the intercom. 

“That better not be my fucking Mother,” Brian snarled, dick in retreat. 

“Brian.” 

“All mothers fuck, or we wouldn’t BE here. Happy?” Brian grabbed Justin’s briefs and dropped them on Justin’s waning passion as he jumped up, yanked his tee from under Justin and got into his own clothes. “I should make the…lady…wait.” He thumped barefoot to the com, pressed the button, “Yes, he’s home,” spun toward Justin whizzing into his clothes. “And I’m not hiding you anywhere, either.” 

A knock on the door. A quick scrape open. Emmett. Looking like a bad night. 

“Brian. I was…uh…walking by and…is Justin here?” 

“Em?” Justin came toward him. “What’re you doing here?” 

Emmett met and embraced him. “Teddy and I are over.” 

“god, I’m sorry,” Justin held tight. “What happened?” 

“Don’t mind me, I’m just the doorman,” Brian rolled his eyes, shut the door and stood watching Justin guide weepy Emmett to the couch. 

The doorbell again. Brian buzzed entry without using the com, waited for a knock then shoved the door open. It would serve the old bitch right to walk into a fucking orgy. 

Michael. In a mood to kick a dog. 

“Ben walked out.” 

Brian wordlessly extended an arm toward the living room. 

Michael tramped past him, “We got into this-” noticed Emmett and Justin. “Emmett?” 

“Mikey,” Emmett sniffled and shuffled toward him, Justin tailing, “Ted left.” 

“Ben left, too,” Michael wrapped arms with Emmett. 

Brian crossed his arms. “Where’s the fiddler when you need him.” 

Justin stepped over to Brian, low-toned from the side of his mouth, “Are you just gonna stand there and be insensitive?” 

“You’re right. I’m going out.” 

Brian hustled to the bedroom, got into shoes and coat and departed fast enough to grab everyone’s attention. 

“What was THAT about?” Michael quizzed. 

Justin shrugged, “Brian left.” 

“Oh, Babeeee,” Emmett gathered Justin into a crushing hug. 

Michael joined with a pat on his shoulder. “You know how he is.” 

Justin’s face twisted. These guys were so out of context. 

 

* * * * *

Ben and Ted sat across from each other at a Liberty Diner table – Ben twiddling a teaspoon on a napkin and Ted staring blank as an upright corpse. 

“It wasn’t Tom,” Ted finally sighed. “It was the idea of Tom. That somebody…was interested in ME for a change. And had some interesting things to say.” His eyes rose to Ben. “What should I do? I mean…how do I face Emmett again?” 

Ben leaned forward on folded arms. “I think you should tell him how you feel.” 

“I thought you tried that with Michael.” 

“It helps if the other person listens,” Ben leaned back. 

“I can video-tape an explanation. I’m good at that.” 

“I’m good at writing, but one-sided isn’t communicating.” 

Brian slid in beside Ben. “Anyone care to know what I’m good at?” 

“A third disinterested party,” Ted sparked. 

“Interested ones only.” 

“Ben and I are discussing how to settle an argument.” 

“You’re arguing about arguing? Is this Seinfeld?” Brian flagged a waiter. “Coffee. Black.” 

Ben looked at Brian. “You and Justin are living together, and you’ve never disagreed on anything?” 

Brian held back. Living together. Where’d they get that idea-assumption or Justin? “We have a different kind of arrangement.” His arriving coffee made a good diversion. 

“Yeah, well…bizarre as it seems, it may be the only one left standing,” Ted muttered. 

IfTHAT wasn’t the pot calling the kettle. Brian stopped mid-reach for sugar, pulled back and scanned his morose tablemates. “We should all-” 

 

* * * * *

“-watch a movie? We’re getting into a blame game now, and I think we need to cool off a little,” Justin grabbed the remote, eyed Emmett on the couch beside him. 

“Fine,” Emmett crossed his arms. 

“Whatever,” Michael sat static beside Emmett. 

Justin tapped the control and the room filled with the theme from the original Charlie’s Angels. The men shot each other glances. 

“Nah,” Michael scrunched a face. 

Justin hit another channel. 

“Oh. The Witches of Eastwick. Love this,” Emmett smiled. 

Another Blonde-Brunette-InBetween vindication flick. They viewed the screen, then each other’s hair. A round of Maybe-nots and Nahs followed by a channel-change. 

“The First Wives Club?” Michael groaned as they all again exchanged glances. 

“This is too weird,” Justin clicked the set off. 

The loft door scraped open, startling Justin to a stand, the others following suit. 

“Honey, I’m ho-ome,” Brian shrilled, “And we have guests.” He slid the door full open, leaving Ted and Ben as wide-eyed as their partners. “Well?” Brian coaxed the men in, casually strode to his bar. “I said the bar was open on Sunday. Name your conversation starter,” he opened a filled cabinet. 

Ben stepped in, eyes on Michael. “Thanks for the invitation. But I think we’re leaving?” 

Michael raised a small smile. “Yeah.” He moved to lift his jacket from a bar stool, nodded to Justin, Brian, “Catch you later.” He and Ben left, took the stairs. 

Emmett touched Justin’s shoulder, gave a quiet, “Bye, Baby,” then to Brian, “You’re not such a Big Bad Wolf,” as he snatched his coat on the way to join Ted, still on the landing. Their grim faces said hopeless-but-not-lost as they took leave. 

Brian gave a cheery wave, slammed the door. Two birds with one stone-helping out friends and getting his Loft back. 

 

* * * * *

Driving the deserted streets, Ben took talk lead, glanced at Michael staring straight ahead. 

“Did Brian give you some feedback on that pitch?” 

“He was busy with Justin.” 

“You didn’t even try to ask him, did you?” 

“I told you-” 

“I heard an excuse. Michael, you’re up half the night worrying…you’re killing yourself over things because you won’t let anybody help you.” 

“I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I can handle it.” 

“Nobody’s asking you to be a useless spectator-” 

“Like David?” Michael crossed his arms in dark memories. 

“Forget David. Use your head, Michael. I want you back like before…joking, smiling, butting into people’s lives and bouncing back alive. The guy I love. Not some tensed-up businessman. You can take charge, but delegate. It doesn’t mean you can’t handle it. All it means is you’re sharp enough to know how to handle it better.” 

Michael sat in thought, looked over and saw Ben’s periodic glances – like he was waiting for an answer to a question. “I’m listening,” he retorted. 

“Did you hear what I said?” 

“Yeah,” Michael softened. “You want us to be number one again.” 

Ben finally smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re not smart. I know your secret identity.” 

 

* * * * *

Ted turned up the heat in a car that seemed too chilly until Emmett finally spoke. 

“It’s my fault. We have nothing in common…” he palmed an eye, watched the passing scenery through the side window. “Why do I do these things.” 

“Because we DO have something in common,” Ted stared straight ahead. “We were both coming off relationships that were real. And meaningful.” 

“Blake,” Emmett whispered. 

“And George. I guess it seemed so much easier…because we were there, and available…” 

“…to hang onto each other.” Emmett sighed, looked straight at Ted. “We weren’t really ready to move on from them, were we?” 

“Maybe not. But we will, and before that happens,” Ted finally looked at Emmett. “I want my friend back. The one who keeps me grounded and pushes me away from doing…exactly what I did.” 

Emmett smiled, pat Ted’s hand on the wheel. “That friend never left. He was just here thinking the same things.” Then he perked up. “So. How’s this Tom?” 

Ted shied, “You don’t want to know about-” 

“Of course I do. Di-ish.” 

Ted paused, did a little nod, “We talked about computer programs.” 

“How exciting,” Emmett faked a hand-to-mouth yawn. 

“It WAS. I’ve been thinking of selling the porn site, and-” 

“You never told me that.” 

“It’s the kind of boring work talk you save for your friends.” 

“I’m not sure why…but I feel honored,” Emmett pulled at his sweater collar,“And why is it so hot in here?” 

Ted smiled, turned down the heat. It wasn’t needed in their fresh, unguarded and open atmosphere. 

 

* * * * *

Brian sprawled naked on his back in bed, relieved by the peace and promise of relief. 

“Finally,” Justin smiled, lifted a knee to straddle facing him. 

“Turn around.” He watched Justin’s head tilt, brow quirk. “Indulge me.” 

Justin grunted and did a backward mount that mated cocks, heard Brian’s breath hisswhen he settled his weight. Felt a hand on his back, pushing him forward against rising thighs and knees. He crossed one arm atop Brian’s knees, rested a cheek on it and looked at the two framed drawings on the bedroom wall: his drawing of Brian, and Brian’s sketch of him. 

“Brian…why don’t you draw anymore?” His other hand slow-stroked both dicks. 

“It’s not in me. Not like you.” 

“I always felt…like it flowed through me from somewhere else.” 

“That’s bullshit. Your art is you. From you. Nowhere else.” Brian ran his hands along Justin’s bodylines, savored the sassy pelvic tilt Justin always did. Made for better access and great presentation. Then he noticed Justin’s stare. “You can take the one if you want.” 

“No. They belong together.” 

“Then take them both.” 

“They stay here.” Because I don’t need the reminder, but maybe you do. “I’ve got plenty of wall stuff.” 

“So when’s the housewarming party?” 

“Not till it’s fixed up. I haven’t told anyone yet. Mmmm,” Justin wrapped one arm around Brian’s legs, kept up the hand-job, closed his eyes. “Thought you gave up drawing.” 

“I just got inspired.” Brian’s one hand had spread Justin open, the other leisurely fingered lube up, around, over his hole. He watched its responses, smiled-I broke that little cherry. Changed my perspective. My whole fucked-up life. 

Justin felt Brian’s heat, his hand guiding him to rise a little, heard the condom wrapper. 

Brian positioned his cockhead, pulled Justin’s hips. He watched Justin’s head drop back, felt the little break past his tight ring, heard the long moan. Swore he gained two inches just from the sight and feel of Justin’s taking his shaft, inch by inch, up that beautiful ass. Until all left was the pulsing adjustment prelude to the real ride. He gripped Justin’s waist. 

“Lie back. You won’t tip. I got you.” 

Justin stretched his legs long between Brian’s bent legs . When his body rested on Brian’s chest, and Brian’s arms locked around him, he felt Brian deep inside and out, closing from all directions. 

Brian wrapped around him like a shield against anyone who ever did or might ever try to steal him. Not the best angle for a kiss. But it was the one more thing needed. So they made it work. 

I want you to stay here-Brian thought so loudly he almost said it, but didn’t. 

I want to come back-ached in Justin’s throat, but his mind said: not yet.

* * *

Reservations about living together again. 

Song: “All I Need” by Air


	7. Dancing In The Fire

Brian stood at his desk and watched Cynthia silently read his memo. 

“We’ll need copies for all departments so we can get these changes started right away. I already talked to Gardner and we’re making this top priority. 

“Brian…thanks for helping Chad. He was getting discouraged and ready to drop out. But now he’s excited about finishing his project.” 

“HE should be thanking YOU. So should I. Gardner hasn’t had any last-minute bail-outs, but he thinks we caught the leak early.” 

“I hope so,” Cynthia turned to leave, paused and glanced back. “You ARE coming to the Staff Awards tonight, aren’t you?” 

“I may have better things to do.” 

“Six sharp. Hilton. Cocktail formal,” she smirked and left. 

Hardly what he had in mind after gunning all day with creative, production and ad hounds. He lifted his planner off the desk, paged to Monday and checked his schedule – couple sales calls, a notation: Hilton 6P; Justin/Deb’s 8P. 

 

* * * * *

The Coffee Shop clock read 4 PM. An hour during which only a few students sat sipping tea or lattes while browsing books, discussing theories, tapping on laptops. 

Justin and Chad sat in a booth across from each other. Chad leaned forward on the table; Justin slouched back and fanned through a thirty-page report. 

“Ten…that’s an awful lot of copies,” Justin shook his head. “If I get caught, I might get fired.” 

“I’ve got a case of paper, so it’s not like we’re stealing anything,” he watched Justin reconsider with a raised brow and head tilt. “It’s the maps that are the main problem,” Chad set two cased CD’s on the table in front of Justin. “I need them at two-hundred percent, top resolution to be readable. Can you sharpen them up?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Justin set the CD’s on top of the papers, slid them into a manila envelope. “How soon do you want them?” 

“This Wednesday.” 

Justin tensed, cleared his throat. “I’m working at the shop tomorrow night…yeah. I can do it.” 

“About the pay…I ran into some expenses I didn’t plan-” he watched Justin exhale, lean back and stare through half-closed eyes, quickly added, “-but would you take this instead?” Chad worked a laptop from his case, set it on the table. “I just upgraded and I really don’t need it.” 

Justin leaned forward, eyes wide. “Are you nuts? This must be worth at least five or six hundred dollars.” 

“This project is worth more to me. If it’s not on my prof’s desk by Friday, I’ll fail the internship and lose the credit. So what do you say, hunh? Will you do it?” 

“Sure,” Justin nodded, cleared his throat again. “But I feel like I’m ripping you off.” 

Chad was preoccupied with digging through his case. “I can get you up and online right now if you got a minute.” 

Justin checked his watch. “Not too long. I hafta be someplace.” 

Chad stopped, thought. “It must be in the car. Wait here a minute, hunh?” 

“Chad-” Justin called, but Chad was up and out the door too quickly. Justin opened the laptop, looked at his watch, at the entry door. Christ. He was already late. 

 

* * * * *

Brian, in Armani, read the “Presidential Room” sign above two carved oak doors, pushed and made grand entrance into…

The Office Party. Typical pomp event for success-flaunters, boss-brownies and – given enough good drink – the revelation of company secrets even the company didn’t know. 

In a large room with an atmosphere like Titanic’s First Class dining hall, Brian panned the sixty or so Vanguarders. Many smiled greetings, a couple oozed back-room vibes. He hardly recognized Cynthia, regal and dangerous in black with pearls and a martini. 

“I thought you had other plans,” she joined him, smiled low. 

“And miss all these Academy Award performances?” Brian scanned again, stopped on Gardner Vance seated across from three guests by the fireplace, the back of a lithe blonde woman almost in his lap. “Besides, I don’t believe I’ve ever met Mrs. Vance.” 

“That’s not Mrs. Vance,” Cynthia whispered. “That’s his new assistant. Lana.” 

“So the old breeder has a bone after all,” Brian smirked respect, watched Gardner’s hand on the low-cut back of her dress. 

Cynthia made a face. “One day and she thinks she’s in charge. Wouldn’t let Chad in, even after I okay’d it. And Vance backs her up,” Cynthia sipped her drink. “I’d like to cut off her balls with a blunt scissors.” 

“Why Cynthia,” Brian grinned in surprise, “I do believe we’re spending too much time together.” He glanced out again and saw Lana’s back. She was standing and clinging on the arm of Paul Bright, a slick-looking up-and-comer. “I wouldn’t worry about it. She’s already mapping new ground.” 

“Yeah. My date.” 

Cynthia lifted Brian’s hand, thrust her glass into it, turned with high heels loudly clicking toward Paul. 

“Rrrrr-oww,” Brian discreetly cat-snarled, watched her grab Paul’s other arm and tactfully guide him away. Lana turned, meeting Brian’s eyes for the first time. 

Recognition flashed so potent, for a second, despite their distance, Brian felt he was nose-to-nose with her. Scott Turner’s “mole” . 

Lana’s eyes flashed in angry recognition. Seeing Brian approaching with an aggressive stare, she spun away to seek avoidance in another clique. 

Brian wasn’t heading for her. He parked Cynthia’s drink on a passing waiter’s tray and stopped at Gardner. “Gardner,” he smiled. 

“Brian.” Gardner rose, took Brian’s arm, addressed his group. “This is Brian Kinney. I’m sure you’re all familiar with his phenomenal work,” and to Brian, “I’d like to introduce-” 

Brian cut in with an extended hand. “Doctor Sylvia Grimes…” he shook, next, “Director Al Torres…” and finally, “Doctor Mark Weigle. I’ve read your AMA article on genetic testing. Very enlightening.” 

“Well.” Weigle shared smug looks with his colleagues. “It seems Vanguard certainly IS interested in representing BioGenTech.” 

“He’s our best,” Gardner pat Brian’s arm. 

“Mind if I steal your host?” Brian waited for approval nods. Then to Gardner, “I need to see you for a moment.” To the group, “Enjoy the party.” And he steered Gardner to a deserted wall far from the bar. 

Gardner casually looked back at the Bio group. “I hope you don’t mind my inviting them to our awards. I wanted them to get the feel of our accomplishments.” 

“Smart move,” Brian agreed. “But I have other concerns. I understand you just hired a new assistant.” 

Gardner took in Brian’s reserve. “Brian, when you brought Cynthia with you, I didn’t demand a say in that. Please do not imply that I can’t enjoy the same courtesy.” 

“Do you know she’s with Neville Agency?” 

“Was. They offered her the option to leave after she lost Conrad Builders.” 

“She’s a proven risk.” 

“She told me everything, and you must know I checked it out carefully. Imagine this job without your Cynthia. Now take one very talented, knowledgeable young lady who needs a job, and one overworked partner who needs an assistant…and accept the result.” Gardner spied waiters seating guests. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe we’re ready for the awards.” 

Gardner walked away; Paul Bright stepped in. 

“My Lander Systems is up against Turner Construction for Staff honors,” Paul raised his drink to Brian. “May the best man win.” 

“Does it matter? We’re all Vanguard,” Brian blinked into Paul’s shark-dark eyes, then moved off to take a seat beside Gardner. 

Going for the same chair, Lana stopped short beside Brian. 

“So you’re Brian Kinney,” she raised a defiant smile. “You got me fired.” 

“No,” Brian coolly pulled out the chair, motioned for her to take it. “YOU did.” 

Her face dropped as she slid onto the chair to avoid a scene and jerked it toward the table. 

 

* * * * *

Vic happily bustled around his kitchen, immune to the mess of used pans piled on the counter. The mark of a true chef. He turned to a stovetop of full burners in action, lifted the lid on a large pot and dipped a spoon for a sample. 

Justin trooped in. “Hey, Vic. Smells great. Sorry I’m late did I…miss anything?” He scanned the fright zone. Living with Ethan at least made him more tolerant. 

“Only most of it. But you’re in time for the cake,” Vic smiled, tested the soup. “Wash your hands first.” 

“Yes, Mom.” 

“And don’t get cute. This is serious business,” Vic jabbed air with the empty spoon, tossed it into the sink and opened a cabinet in search of more equipment. 

Justin ran the faucet, wet his hands over a pile of utensils. “Want me to wash some of this?” 

“I want you to separate some eggs,” Vic plopped down a strange cup. He snatched one of five eggs on a plate, cracked it on the cup edge and emptied it in. 

“What’s that?” Justin dried his hands. 

Vic handed him the cup. “Egg separator. Pour the whites into that measuring cup.” He grabbed a ladle, turned to stir soup and check pots. 

Justin studied the cup. It was a man’s comical face with a long nose, two nostrils, handle on back of the head. Justin took the handle, tipped the cup over the measuring glass. A stream of mucousy whites dripped through the nostrils until the yokes blocked the flow. 

“This is soooo gross.” 

“A gift from Michael,” Vic grinned, opened a cabinet and reached for a glass on an upper shelf. “You can dump the yokes in this.” 

A burner hissed and sizzled in a major boil-over. Justin flinched; Vic’s glass tumbled down and shattered on the counter. 

“Get that,” Vic shot over his shoulder and reached for pieces as Justin dashed for the stove. “Shit!” Vic pulled up his hand, grabbed a dishcloth off the faucet. 

“You okay, Vic?” Justin downed the flame, glanced back. He could see blood spots on the cloth. 

“Yeah, yeah. Paper cut,” Vic grumbled, wrapped his hand and headed for the stairs. 

“Need some help?” Justin started after him. 

“Stay there. Stay there.” 

Justin watched Vic thump up the steps, returned to the kitchen sink. “Deb’s gonna kill us,” he sighed at the view, reached for a glass chunk, saw the egg separator. Daphne might get a kick out of – “Ah!” He dropped the glass back on the counter, checked his bleeding fingertip, reached for the missing dishcloth and froze. 

Oh god, oh god, oh god – he went white, eyes scouring the glass pieces. One had a red spot on its edge. Not that one. Or that one. Or the one by the eggs. None of the others. Only one. He leaned closer, looked again, heart thumping faster. For a second, his vision tunneled. He was shallow breathing and had to get a grip. 

Justin brushed the glass piece into the sink. Turned on the hot water. Took the soap bar and sped through a wash, squeezing blood to run like pale ink. He could hear Vic thudding back down the stairs. He took a massive breath in…slowly pushed it out. Must look normal. Normal. Normal. 

“Just leave those,” Vic gruffed,bumped Justin aside, opened the sink cabinet door for a latex glove. “Are you okay? You look a little white.” 

Justin fisted his hand behind his thigh. “I hafta run upstairs.” 

“Please don’t say it’s the food,” Vic quipped, gloved his bandaged hand. His brows briefly knit over Justin’s hasty exit but relaxed as he scanned the shambles. “Sis is gonna kill me. But not with Sunshine around.” And he hummed a sixties tune while hand-shoveling glass into the trash can. 

Upstairs, Justin opened the bathroom medicine cabinet, found a bandage and stripped it open. His finger was barely oozing, but he bandaged it anyway. Then he saw Vic’s row of HIV meds, shut his eyes, stretched his arms against the sink and hunched forward as if gut-shot in agony. Vic’s great life. 

He hung suspended, too scared to move, too numb to cry. What were the chances. What next. What if. No way did he ever want Vic to know. So whom could he tell? 

No one. 

Justin ran the cold water, splashed his face, dried off and hurried downstairs. He stopped in the kitchen doorway to see Vic in his specs, paging through a beat-up binder. “Vic?” 

Vic turned, his smile flattening. “Are you sure you’re okay? You still look a little pale.” 

“Is it…alright if we try this some other night?” 

Vic nodded, as much concerned as disappointed. “You go get some rest. This was just a warm up. Next time, we’ll REALLY get into it,” he grinned. 

Justin could almost feel his disappointment. “What’re you reading?” 

“My life as a chef,” Vic closed the binder. “Never was a best-seller, but-” 

“Think I could…like…borrow it?” When he noticed Vic’s hesitation, he added, “Just to get familiar with stuff. I’ll take good care of it.” 

Vic eyed him a moment, “See that you do,” and handed it over, pleased with the interest. 

“Thanks,” Justin stared a little too long. 

“What?” 

Justin broke it off. “Uh…shit,” he rubbed his temple. “Brian’s supposed to pick me up. Could you tell him I’ll call him later?” 

“Will do.” 

“Thanks.” Justin turned back to the living room, put the binder in his backpack, slung it over a shoulder and headed for the door. “Later, Vic.” The last semblance of cheer he could eek out. 

“See ya, Sunshine,” Vic watched the door shut, smiled and turned back to the stove. 

The wall phone rang. He snapped up the receiver. “Grassi’s Diner. Brian! Where you at, kid? I can barely hear you.” 

 

* * * * *

Brian, on his cell phone, walked the Hilton lobby to the glass entry doors. 

“I said I’ll be a little late. IsJustin…what? Why?” Brian noticed Cynthia motioning toward the party suite. He raised a one-minute index finger, saw her nod and walk away. “From where? He doesn’t have a phone yet.” Brian glanced up again. Gardner was advancing. “Vic…I have to go. Yeah. Thanks. Bye.” 

“Our guests are waiting,” Gardner bit through a smile. 

“They know we’re worth it,” Brian pocketed his cell and joined Gardner on the return. 

 

* * * * *

PIFA Digital Resources, open late for the ambitious, had only one user. Justin. He focused on a computer screen, sped through commands that crisped the image of a Pittsburgh street map, brightened colored dots and darkened the print on labels he didn’t understand. Only the beginning of his night’s work. To stay busy. Hold together. Breathe again. 

 

* * * * *

At the loft, Brian studied the Pittsburgh street atlas on his computer screen. He accessed the Find block, entered Taylor, Justin and PIFA’s zip code. His finger tapped the air over the enter key. If this didn’t work, there were numerous ways he could find out anytime. But Justin asked him to wait. He grabbed the mouse, cursor’d to Close…and clicked.

* * *

Justin times-out with work; Brian honors Justin’s request. 

Song: “Carte Blanche (Original Mix)” by Veracocha


	8. Dancing In The Fire

Brian grabbed his coat to leave his office when he heard Cynthia arguing with another woman in the hall. He opened his door, stepped out. 

“Have we decided who’s off the island?” 

Cynthia steamed, “Brian, I told her-” 

“I have to talk to you,” Lana marched around him and into his office, Cynthia close behind. 

Brian raised a hand to halt Cynthia. Her eyes widened, mouth opened to protest, but she read his eyes, shot a look of betrayal, abruptly turned and walked away. 

Brian stepped back inside, shut the door and faced Lana, in fighting stance beside his desk. “I’m busy. Make it quick.” 

“This security memo,” Lana briefly flashed a paper in hand. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?” 

“Now why would you think that?” Brian grinned. 

“Gardner didn’t hire me for Neville secrets because I told him forget that,” she edged closer as if ready to bite. “Contrary to what you might think, I DO take confidentiality agreements seriously. I know I made a mistake, and I think I paid enough for it. I was a good ad agent, and I expect to be there again whether you trust me or not.” 

Truth or smoke? Brian opened the door. “Time’s up.” 

Lana barged out leaving a cold wake. A moment later, Cynthia blazed in. 

“I expected VANCE to put up with that bitch, but not YOU.” 

“She’s his assistant now, so let’s not keep her guard up,” Brian raised a brow, went to his desk, took a card-sized envelope from under the stack in his mail tray. “A little bonus for your understanding.” He handed it to Cynthia, called, “I’ll be on the road,” and left. 

Cynthia watched him turn the corner out of sight, opened the envelope, pulled the card and read the cover: UNREGISTERED. USE WISELY. She opened it. Taped inside was a plastic, blunt-nosed child’s scissors. Made her smile, and she really needed that. Damn Brian. Damn him. For being gay. 

 

* * * * *

The PIFA lab tables were lined with seated students engrossed in radiuses and rulers. 

Justin squinted at a copy of instructions too light for his tired eyes. He leaned over to the Retro Hippie girl on his left, whispered,“Liz? What’s number eight?” 

She grabbed her copy, held it in his view. “On panel draw cube with three-inch square column projecting four inches up from the top and a three inch cylinder projecting six inches on the front and a six-inch square hole on the right side. Using techniques from one-two-three render light and shade.” She stared at him. “Justin?” 

He looked up from her Mickey Mouse wristwatch. “What?” 

“You’re dragging,” she lifted her purse, dug out a cosmetic case, unzipped it and held it over his lap. “My finals kit. Help yourself.” 

Justin glanced down at a stash of No-Doz and Vivarin. “Uh…thanks, but I think I’ll just cut the next class…take a break.” 

“Up to you,” she repacked her kit. 

Justin glimpsed her watch again. 

 

* * * * *

Brian pulled the Jeep into the Mall lot beside a gray rental sedan, parked, got out and opened the sedan’s driver door. 

“Mr. Kinney,” Chad nodded from the passenger seat, an open computer, GPS and Pringles Potato Chips can on his lap. 

Brian slid inside, shut the door and started up. “Good. You brought lunch.” 

“This?” Chad lifted the empty can, wire trailing. “It’s a directional antenna. This copper wire runs-” 

“That’s your best equipment?” Brian wry-glanced while pulling into traffic. 

“It works,” Chad connected wires. “If I brought EVERYTHING I use, I’d never get through airport security.” He aimed the can out the window, checked the display on his computer. “Just do a couple wide circles to start and work in from there, hunh?” 

“Keep me posted.” 

“Roger.” 

Brian rolled his eyes, drove the city blocks near Vanguard’s offices. “Anything yet?” 

Chad kept his eyes moving over his equipment. “Some. But not from Vanguard.” 

“If…say…there would be an open access…could you find out what’s being sent?” 

“Sure. I have a program that does that…puts the transmission on my screen. But it takes awhile to crack a password to get in,” Chad lowered the can, pointed ahead. “If you pull up close to that Coffee Shop and park, there’s always students WiFi’ng. I’ll show you.” 

Brian whipped into a spot, eyed the expired meter, kept the car idling. “Will this take long?” 

“Nope,” Chad punched keys, pushed his glasses up. “Lots of students bypass the password request, so…ah…we got a smorgasbord here. Let’s try…I’m into somebody’s email.” Chad turned the screen for Brian to briefly view it before turning it back and reading aloud, “ ‘Hey. I’m back online and okay. I decided to try for an internship at Disney Animation near LA. Two of my professors said they’d give me recommendations, so I might have a shot. I know somebody out there-” 

“Isn’t that against the law? Reading private mail,” Brian interrupted. 

“Laws are still pretty vague on this. You’d have to prove somebody used the information to injure you. I once picked up a burglary plan and phoned the police. Anonymously.” 

“Speaking of which,” Brian eyed his side-view mirror. A city prowler creeping along the parked cars. He turn-signaled and rolled back into traffic. 

Chad ended-program. “So that’s how it works. By the way, we’ll all be happy to know that Ted and Emmett are friends again.” 

Brian hard-eyed him, stared ahead, breaths heavier, hand tight on the wheel. 

Chad didn’t notice. He had the can aimed out his window. “Ready to close in for the kill?” 

Brian side-glanced, stayed silent. 

Chad restated thinking Brian didn’t understand. “Take it right across the street from Vanguard, but not the front door, hunh?” 

“Yeah.” 

Brian’s head was elsewhere. How many Pittsburgh art students knew Ted and Emmett…and someone from LA. 

 

* * * * *

It was already dark and drizzly when Chad stopped and idled the sedan at PIFA’s main door. Justin, waiting in the doorway, walked to the opening passenger door. After brief words, Justin reached in and removed a duffel bag. He slammed the door and headed into the building as the car drove away. 

 

* * * * *

At the loft, smooth jazz played low. Brian, still in the day’s shirt and tie, sat beside a stack of scientific journals and periodicals on his couch. He paged through one issue, checking ad size and appearance. Then he tossed the magazine on the coffee table, leaned back and stared off in thought. 

 

* * * * *

Justin had the large copier powered up. He’d seen Harry operate it several times, ran it himself twice. But his inexperience slowed him down. 

The door opened. Harry stepped in; Justin flinched. 

“Justin? What’re you still doing here, dude? And why’s Bertha up?” 

“I…uh…had some stuff to run, and I thought you left already.” 

“I left t’eat,” Harry casually reached for one of two packets on the copier shelf, “But I got maintenance checks tonight.” 

Justin briefly closed his eyes as Harry lifted a packet, read a sheet. 

“Whose department is this from?” Harry was uncharacteristically harsh. 

“Mine,” Justin exhaled. “I brought my own paper. Except for the large sheets.” 

“You know the rules on personal stuff. PIFA-related only. Bertha keeps a log and I gotta answer for everything that goes through here.” 

“I didn’t know,” Justin swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know there was so much more involved.” Justin drew his Shop key from his pants pocket. “I suppose you’ll want this back, too.” 

“Got my own key,” Harry answered. They stared at each other before Harry looked at the top sheet again. “Looks like PIFA-related to me. How many copies you need?” When Justin didn’t answer, he added, “I owe you from Friday night. How many?” 

 

* * * * *

Full backpack pulling his shoulders and heavy duffle in hand, Justin stepped outside PIFA and faced up to let the cold drizzle liven him. When he looked down, he saw Brian’s Jeep parked out front, watched Brian get out and come toward him. Made him glad. Then apprehensive. 

“You’re late,” Brian grabbed the duffle. “And what the fuck is IN here?” 

“Just a project. What’re YOU doing here?” 

Brian kissed him, got a weak return. “I guess driving you to the bus stop.” Brian turned away and headed for the Jeep. 

Justin bit his lip, followed and stopped at the passenger door behind Brian who was half inside and cramming the duffle behind the seat. 

Brian glanced back. “Which stop?” 

“The Loft,” Justin sighed. He wasn’t sure what to say, but knew Brian needed to hear it. 

 

* * * * *

In the Loft shower, soapy hands gliding all over each other, Brian expected more than the light, tentative kisses Justin offered. He accepted Justin’s decline of a blowjob as a plan to save it for the sheets. 

To Justin, every contact, every sharing became a major risk. Oh sure, he knew about what he could and couldn’t do to be safe. It looked good on paper. But it was different now. He wasn’t just a nameless ghost. And Brian wasn’t a nobody. And nothing was a hundred percent safe anymore. 

“Did you fall asleep on me again?” Brian pressed to Justin’s back, kissed his ear. 

Justin suddenly realized he’d been still and facing the wall. He turned, stretched up to plant another light kiss. “I’m…sort of really tired.” 

Brian tensed from an old haunt. Justin’s actions right before the Ethan thing blew up. “Is there something I should know about?” He said it lightly, smiling. Hiding what he knew, though he’d half-convinced himself it meant nothing. 

Justin’s eyes switched from one hazel to the other in a telltale pause before he caught himself. “Yeah. Our hot water doesn’t last as long as you do,” he joked, opened the door and let Brian kill the water, grabbed a towel and left before Brian turned back. 

Brian dried himself, stepped from the bathroom and watched Justin’s back as he ruffed a towel over his blond hair. Lusty heat building at the sight of the slim pale body made Brian forget his concern. Made him move in fast, grab and twist Justin. Stare into his eyes. Press his cock against that inviting soft belly. Squeeze handfuls of splendid ass. Get pushed away? What the fuck? 

“Brian,” Justin leaned back, arms bent against Brian’s chest, “I was thinking of something a little different tonight?” his flat palms rode circles on Brian’s chest and he smiled up like a kid asking to borrow the car. Hug, kiss, maybe. Talk. Had to talk. 

Brian studied his eyes, nodded. “Okay,” Brian reached into the condom bowl, breathedout, “So go to it.” He took Justin’s hand, set the lube in it, ripped open a condom packet, checked Justin’s cock. “Nice response.” Brian rolled the condom onto Justin’s dick, gave it a few strokes for better measure. 

The significant turn had caught Justin off guard, refueled and excited. He swung his arms around Brian’s neck, kissed him deeply, then watched him slip free to take a comfortable position on his stomach. Long, slender, beautiful, his. Wait. Wait. Remember. Justin swallowed hard, straddled the tops of Brian’s thighs. 

“Slow down, Road Runner,” Brian raised his head off his crossed arms. “Full treatment. No skipping.” He rested his head again, closed his eyes. 

Justin set the lube aside, bent forward and began a sensual massage, his hands draining the tension from Brian’s neck. Shoulders. Back. Firm long strokes making Brian sigh. 

Brian relished the tender damp kisses along his shoulders, down his spine. He felt the bed shake, Justin’s hot bottom lift off, a soft hand coax his legs apart. Brian shifted to let Justin lie between his legs, kiss and nip his ass until his cock raged beneath him. He’d taught the young man too well. Now he had to suffer the wait for that silky tongue to land home. 

Justin blew, kissed Brian’s hole and teased it to relax. Brian was no moaner, but his heavy, catching breaths set the pace. Justin could feel Brian’s muscles working, tightening, and knew his hand was on his cock and he was ready. But Justin wasn’t. 

Brian exhaled a long breath. What’s the holdup? “Anytime you are,” he lightly hinted. 

Justin rose, face tense and eyes hazing. He stretched a hand to the condom bowl. 

Brian’s eyes opened, brows knit when he caught the movement, heard the rip and crackle. Another condom? Then he heard Justin sharply inhale a sniffle. Felt him lean over his back, kiss his hair. His shoulder. A tear hit his bicep, trickled like a skittering spider. 

Brian couldn’t twist his head far enough to get a read on Justin’s face. “Allergies?” 

“I…can’t,” came a tiny voice. “Can I just…you know…blow you?” 

“Move over.” 

Justin was off and standing before Brian could settle on his back. Disturbed by the sight of Justin faced away and palming his eyes, Brian rolled out and stood behind him. 

“I think it’s time you told me,” Brian cupped his hands on Justin’s shoulders. 

“Brian…I have…I’m pretty sure. God, I think I’m positive,” he blurted and dashed to the living room window where he gripped his arms and aimed his head high to fight the tears. 

Brian stood numb, mouth open, eyes unblinking. No. Fucking, god…NO. He ran a hand through his hair, swallowed hard and advanced like he was creeping up on a bird. 

“When?” 

“Not long. It’s too soon for the test.” 

“Then what makes you so sure?” 

“I know.” 

Brian stopped a few feet away, closed his eyes, hardly realized he was breathing like a wild man and suddenly sounding like one. “Who?” 

“Does it matter?” Justin spun away and stopped at the kitchen counter. 

“Yeah, it fucking does,” Brian followed, again stopped at a distance and winced at his hurtful raging. He could see Justin’s body pulling into itself and shivering in the blue light from the bedroom. Hear his sobs catch. 

“At least you’re making this easier,” Justin rushed to the bedroom. 

“What are you doing?” Brian watched Justin dress. 

“Throwing myself out.” 

“I need to know.” 

“Why?” Justin thumped down the stairs on his way to the door. 

“So I know who to hate!” Brian shouted, picked a CD off his stereo and flung it crashing against the wall. 

“Me! I’m the one who fucked up!” Justin twirled back, face wet, chest heaving. 

Brian fought to calm his voice. “Don’t go. Not like this.” 

“I have to,” Justin pleaded. “Just…don’t follow me, Brian. Okay?” 

Brian didn’t answer. He watched Justin leave the loft. Leave it cold and empty. His throat tightened until the unbearable pain hit his eyes, spilled out and trailed down his face. Then his mind focused, eyes cleared with determination. 

No. Not like this.

* * *

Brian makes a decision; Justin stands at the bus stop in lightly falling rain. 

Song: “Vasoline” by Stone Temple Pilots


	9. Dancing In The Fire

The place was Lou’s on 5th Avenue. Standard, smoky sports joint with two middle-aged Romeos hitting on complementing Julietts. Five college jocks, arms on each other’s shoulders were glued to ESPN at the end of the bar while some diva moaned lost love from a jukebox. 

Justin tossed wrinkled bills on the bar. His Ziggy-look-alike bartender wordlessly slid a headless beer in exchange. Justin drank deeply, stopped and looked aside when someone sat right next to him despite several empty stools. Shit. Brian. 

“I told you not to follow me,” Justin whispered. 

“You didn’t say for how long,” Brian was louder. “I almost got stopped for stalking a city bus. Come on. Let’s get out of here,” he took Justin’s arm. 

“Would you let go? This is a straight bar.” 

Brian kept his hold, scanned faces already drawn to the conversation and announced, “Yes, I’m touching him, but it’s all right because we’re both gay,” with a grin made wider by the jocks’ mad recoil from each other. 

“Jesus,” Justin pulled away, slid off his seat and headed for the door. No chance for a peaceful drink now. 

Outside, the spit-shower went downpour. Justin hiked his jacket tight around his neck, dodged cars to the center of the six-lane with Brian shouting close behind. 

“You’re not losing me!” 

Justin stopped and spun around, hair plastered flat and dripping. “Can’t you understand? I have nothing to say to you.” 

Brian stopped, also drenched, ignored a blaring car horn as traffic routed around them. “Justin Taylor? Nothing to say? Bullshit.” 

“I just needed you to trust me on this, but you can’t, can you? You don’t trust me. I promised I wouldn’t lie to you. But you had to ask, didn’t you? Like you expected I WOULD?” 

“OKAY! You want to take it back?” 

“I want you to LEAVE. ME. ALONE!” 

Justin turned and almost walked into a passing car. It’s loud horn froze him long enough for Brian to catch his arm again. Another car slowed, window down. “Assholes!” the driver yelled and sped up. 

Brian gripped an arm around Justin’s shoulders, “If you’re trying to kill yourself, I’m going with you.” He led Justin across the street to the passenger side of the Jeep, pulled his wet pocket inside-out with his keys and unlocked the door. 

Justin sleeve-wiped the water from his eyes. “I’m taking the bus.” 

“Get in the car,” Brian wiped rain from his own face. 

“I’m not going back to the loft,” Justin turned away. 

“Get in the car!” Brian snagged his arm. 

“Why?” Justin jerked free. 

“Because it’s fucking RAINING out!” Brian yanked the door open and leaned forward, eyes rolled up in a sarcastic plea. “Now would you please get in the car?” 

Justin slid in as best he could on wet jeans, unlocked Brian’s door in time for Brian to jump in. 

Though better protected in his leather jacket, Brian felt soaked, mean and struggling to sound civil. “Where should I take you?” 

“My place.” 

“Where’s that?” Brian side-eyed, saw Justin shiver. He cranked the engine, put on the lights and wipers and turned up the heat. 

“Straight ahead. I’ll tell you when to turn.” 

Through the city and back to Justin’s, their talk was formal passenger-to-cabbie. Turn right here. Two more blocks. Slow down. By the time the Jeep parked at a renovated rowhouse, they realized how pathetic they sounded. 

The rain let up enough for Justin to hesitate outside the open car door. “Brian? Thanks.” He slammed the door and jogged to one building, heard another door slam. He turned. Brian. “I didn’t invite you in,” Justin unlocked the door and stepped into the hall. 

“So call the cops,” Brian stiff-armed the door from closing and let himself in. 

Justin exhaled a long breath, faced a stairwell and started down. “Come on.” 

The room was a small, clean white-washed square of subdivided basement. Brian watched Justin push through a shower curtain that hung in place of a bathroom door then took in the rest while working out of his jacket. No bed. Mini kitchen. A TV tray with a box of tissue beside a large wing-back recliner covered with a sheet, pillow and blanket. And an art easel with a small stool under a high glass block window. Other artists probably starved in more than this. Yet…there was something…the plants. Large, green…one in each corner near the easel. Giving the niche life, a sense of real. 

Justin, rubbing his hair with a towel and holding out another, returned to see Brian staring at the asphalt tile floor. “It’s great for cleaning paint spills. Here.” 

Brian took the towel, looked around for a place to hang his jacket and found a hook on the front door. “It’s cozy.” He toweled off his hair, turned to see Justin picking through hung clothing in a small closet. 

“I was kinda hoping to have it a little better fixed up before having visitors,” Justin pulled out a robe, draped it on the chair. “This should fit you. Want some tea or instant coffee?” Justin shivered, gripped his arms, eyes wandering to avoid watching Brian. 

“I think you should get out of those wet clothes and worry about me later.” 

Justin swiped Brian’s pants from his hands. “I’ll just hang these in the shower. There’s an exhaust fan, so they might dry faster.” Justin disappeared into the bathroom. 

Brian set the pillow beside the chair, tossed the robe on the floor for his feet then sat down, his long legs crossed at the ankles and feet tapping air as he waited through the sounds of Justin’s undressing. This privacy thing was new. And unsettling. “Justin?” 

“What?” Justin pushed aside the curtain. 

“I know this thing reclines somehow,” Brian craned over each chair arm, faking clueless. 

Justin stalled, strode in naked. “There’s a lever right down here,” he bent beside the chair. 

Brian strong-armed him around the waist, pulled him backwards over the chair arm and toward his lap. “Brian! What the fuck are you doing?” He went rigid, tried pushing off with a hand on Brian’s thigh and one on his shoulder, locked his legs on the chair arm. 

“Will you just relax?” Brian pulled harder. 

“I’m too heavy for this.” 

“Then we’ll stay this way all night.” 

Justin looked down at Brian, rolled his eyes away, exhaled and settled into Brian’s lap. “You are such an asshole.” 

Brian leaned his head back, shut his eyes to enjoy the unusual pressure…and another meaning for cold-cocked. He tensed for a second. 

Justin slid his arms around Brian’s neck. “This feels…a little weird. And warm.” 

“At least my dick’ll stay soft until you heat up.” Satisfied that Justin would stay put, Brian released his grip, snatched the blanket off the couch arm, flicked it out and covered Justin to the neck. “Bring your legs in.” 

Justin raised his knees until his feet cleared the arm then slid his feet onto the seat against Brian’s thighs. That got another jolt. 

“Yow. And I thought your ASS was cold.” 

“You asked for it.” 

Brian tucked the blanket around Justin’s body, taking time to rub his feet, thigh, hip. With his shoulder and arm propped against a wing, he could support Justin’s back with little effort. “You still look good…feel good to me. Nothing’s changed that. Nothing.” 

Justin rested his cheek against the top of Brian’s head. From cold and alone, he suddenly felt warm and safe. “Brian-” 

“What?” 

“Why did you follow me when I told you not to?” 

“Because we needed to talk. And you were wrong.” 

Brian felt Justin pull back, looked up to defensive eyes. “I’m the one who fucked up.” When Justin shook his head in confusion, Brian went on,“We should’ve talked about the bashing.” 

“That’s old,” Justin tightened his arms, leaned his head against Brian’s. Like a need to encase and comfort. “The dreams aren’t so bad anymore.” 

“We’re not making that same mistake. Tell me what’s going on with you now. I want to know.” 

Justin cleared his throat but still sounded frail. “I’m scared, Brian. More scared than I’ve ever been of anything in my life.” 

“You won’t be alone. And don’t even think about ditching me again,” Brian rubbed his head under Justin’s chin, slowly stroked the length of his thigh and hip. “I’ve had a few scary moments myself.” 

“You? Hardly. When?” 

“That first night you came back.” 

“Thanks a lot,” Justin yanked a stray hair. 

“Hey!” Brian slapped Justin’s hand, settled down. “I had a…strange dream.” 

“About what?” Justin whispered into his hair. 

Brian stared at nowhere. His hand finally stopped and spread on Justin’s hip. “I was in the middle of a fire ring.” 

“You were burning?” 

“No. It was like…my home. I can’t explain it. Then you were there.” He stopped. 

“You had a dream…about me?” 

“About us,” Brian’s face softened, his hand starting its lazy movements again. “You touched me.” 

“Then what?” Justin stroked Brian’s hair. 

Brian darkened. He didn’t like the ending – Justin leaving with Ethan. He’d planned this gallant gesture so well…but somehow believed Justin wouldn’t go. He’d closed his eyes to black the scene out. Almost shouted to Justin to come home. But it stayed an internal whisper. The cost of…loving? Agony almost replayed if not for the ambulance that woke him up. “We danced.” 

“What about the fire?” 

The temptations, doubts, hardships…call it whatever. “It was still there.” 

“Mmmm. Flaming passion.” 

Leave it to Justin, Brian smiled then winced. “And now would be a good time to shift over. My leg’s falling asleep.” He slid an arm under Justin’s thighs and eased him off to one side while wedging himself to the other. Mental dancing and Justin’s warmth played havoc with his dick. 

Justin kept his arms around Brian’s neck, legs stretched across his lap. Their faces level, Justin leaned in and kissed Brian’s lips. “You never told me any of your dreams before.” 

“I never told anyone my dreams.” 

“So I’m your first?” 

“First and only. I’d never tell someone I couldn’t trust.” 

“Really?” 

“Really,” Brian squeezed Justin’s hip. “Your turn.” Why do you want to leave. “Why are you so afraid?” Were you forced. Sap? Ethan? Chad? Who the fuck did this to you! Hold it. Cool it. Stay…in…control. “Did this…person…threaten you?” 

Justin buried his face against Brian’s chest. “No. Just let it alone. Please?” 

“If it’s because I blew up…I hated feeling…helpless,” he looked off, sifted his fingers through Justin’s hair. “You were right about the trust thing. So we both fucked up. But if we want to get it back, we’ll have to start SOMEwhere.” 

Silence hung until Justin swallowed, shut his eyes. ““It was an accident. We got cut on the same piece of glass.” 

Bitter relief. “That doesn’t mean anything, unless you know for sure-” 

“It was Vic.” 

Brian’s eyes flared open before he managed a calm breath. “Vic.” 

“If I…you know…it would kill him worse than anything. But if I don’t say who…people will think…” 

“So you pushed me away,” Brian kissed Justin’s hair. “This isn’t the Dark Ages. You don’t have to run around wearing a scarlet A. And fuck what people think. It’s none of their fucking business.” 

“I remember things I said about Michael and Ben.” 

“Let them be their own talk. Right now…it’s just you and me.” Brian took Justin’s hand and placed it on his hardened cock. “While we’re on the subject…there’s nothing we can’t do that we haven’t always done, as long as we’re careful.” 

God, Brian, sex isn’t the answer to everything. Justin withdrew slowly. “Don’t take this wrong. I just…can’t do this right now. You can, you know, stop somewhere. It’s okay.” He gripped a chair arm to pull away but Brian held him down, forcing him to almost beg. “I want you to go now.” 

Brian’s eyes moved from one blue eye to the other. Justin could be so cryptic sometimes. But Brian felt a strong read. “Okay,” he whispered. “But before I go, talk to me a little more. I want to listen.” 

 

* * * * *

Brian walked the neon-lit lot to Babylon’s entrance. 

“Hi, Brian.” 

“Todd. How’s it going,” Brian stated, kept walking. 

“Fine.” 

“We’re NOT together,” Brian warned as Todd paced at his side. 

“I know. We’re just two guys alone, out for another game of back-alley roulette.” 

“Back-alley roulette?” Brian grinned aside. 

“Yeah. Five chances of catching something curable.” 

“All for the pleasure of hot, uncomplicated sex.” 

“Yeah, sometimes. But mostly…I guess…if I go out every night, and meet enough people, I’ll finally meet the right one. Isn’t that what everybody does?” 

“Not everyone is looking for Mr. Right.” 

“Then…what’s the point of taking the risk?” Todd glanced over a shoulder when he realized Brian had stopped a couple steps back. “Aren’t you going in?” 

Some desires were just too potent. That electric fever from deep voices moaning and balls slapping, lips sucking. Musky smells of sex and sights of hard muscles pounding. All the sensations that added to the high…of control…and release…more than a drug high, or whiskey buzz. Highs so fucking great while they lasted. Until you came crashing back crawling and sick and desperate for more. To fill a void you didn’t know was there…until someone came along…then you knew. . . and there was no turning back. 

Brian took risks. Calculated to his favor. If the odds fell against him, such was life. But it wasn’t like that anymore. Someone else to consider. Someone who might need him to be around for a long time. 

“Not tonight.” 

Brian walked back through the lot, through the red neon and blue strobes. 

 

* * * * *

Outlined in soft light through his window, Justin sat before his easel in the dark, thinking – I turned him down. He stayed anyway.

* * *

Brian walks away; Justin considers his next move. 

Song: “The Test” by The Chemical Brothers


	10. Dancing In The Fire

Brian, dressed and ready for work, sipped coffee while paging through a magazine on the counter. A knock on the door. A wonder-who second. Brian left his cup, unlocked and drew the door open. 

“Hey, Brian,” Justin edged a smile. “I forgot my stuff in the Jeep last night.” He stepped in, stood still as Brian shut the door. 

“I was just about to leave anyway,” Brian rested his hands on Justin’s hips, kissed him. “How are you holding up? Gutter-mind aside.” 

Justin’s smile eased to natural. “I’ll be okay.” He slid his arms around Brian’s waist and pulled into a hug, closed his eyes and felt Brian’s warm breath in his hair. “If Vic and Ben can deal with it, so can I.” 

Brian stared off. “Where do you get your courage.” 

“You always said self-pity makes your dick soft,” Justin leaned back with a grin. The last thing he wanted was anybody’s pity. 

Brian backed away, dug his keys from his pocket, held them out and opened the door. “Meet me at the Jeep before we’re BOTH late.” 

Justin caressed the keys from his hand, bounded out and down the stairs. Brian adjusted his crotch and grabbed his briefcase. If Justin’s show was for his benefit, it sure the fuck worked. Could’ve timed it a little better, though. 

At the car, Brian opened the driver door to a stack of neatly bound reports on his seat, Justin filling a lapful of duffel and a floor full of backpack. 

“What’re you doing?” 

Justin rummaged, “We were working kinda fast, and I just wanted to make sure none of this got mixed up,” he cleared the seat. 

Brian slid in, slammed his door, started the car. “School project?” He watched Justin pull the contents from a manila envelope marked MASTER. 

“Sort of. It’s for Cynthia’s nephew, Chad. You met him last week,” Justin straightened the packet, flipped it over. His brows knit. “Is this something about Vanguard?” 

Brian, waiting for a break in traffic, snapped a look. “A little computer study. Let me see that.” He cut the engine, took the packet and read a hand-penciled key code of companies numbered one through six. Vanguard was one…Neville was six. He turned the pack over, fanned through a series of war drive documents like the one done for Vanguard. In fact, the front WAS Vanguard’s titled a generic COMPANY-ONE including a PRACTICAL APPLICATION section. When he located Six, his eyes burned the page, lips thinned. 

Justin glanced from the pages to Brian. “Don’t freak. I couldn’t understand it either.” After Brian handed the pages back, Justin crammed them into the envelope and added it to the duffel. “Could you give this to Cynthia for me?” 

“Not a problem,” Brian restarted the car, noticed Justin quietly staring at a point beyond the dash. The show was over. 

Justin detected the look and wrenched a smile. “What?” 

Brian faced ahead. “Traffic is a bitch today.” All he could do. For now. 

 

* * * * *

Gardner sat at Brian’s desk, brows knit as each studied a copy of Chad’s report. 

Brian started, “Neville had open access points on a drive dated AFTER ours.” 

“So what you’re saying is, we fell for a scheme to hawk security programs?” 

Brian blew that off. “We had vulnerability. It’s being corrected. But we thought Neville was tapping us. According to this,” Brian displayed the report, “They don’t even know THEY’RE vulnerable. If anything’s getting out – and it sure the fuck seems so – it’s from someone inside.” 

“But the only problems have been with YOUR accounts.” 

“In which you share a gain,” Brian added. “Four people have access to my database. Me, you, Cynthia…and your ex-Neville assistant. Now out of all those dedicated parties, who would YOU pick…partner?” 

Gardner let out a breath. “I’ll check into it,” he nodded, stood up and walked out with the report. 

Brian dropped his copy onto his lap, rolled his lips in thought. One more person. 

A moment later, Chad tapped on the open door. “Mr. Kinney?” 

“I was just thinking about you.” 

“Justin told me you’d have my-” Chad spied the open duffel, dug into it, removed a copy. He flipped through a neatly bound packet to an inside pocket, removed and unfolded a map. “This is perfect.” 

“Justin always does superior work,” Brian watched Chad shuffle through the bag, frown. 

“There’s supposed to be ten. I’m short two.” 

“One,” Brian tossed his copy into the bag. “You just donated one to Vanguard for using us,” his cold statement got Chad’s stare. “What other information are you collecting?” 

Chad stiffened with the drift. “Mr. Kinney, my interest is in security. That’s what this is all about,” he waved a copy of his report, re-bagged it. “I don’t make up facts to scare people, I don’t get a kick-back from selling systems and I don’t spy for the highest bidder. I try to get people to understand that what I do is real, and that it’s not just the good guys who use this technology. If anything, I’m grateful to Vanguard for being the first company to make my work credible. Without that, I’m just some college geek with a crazy idea.”

Brian watched his eyes, his stance. Hardly the bad guy. “So what’re you planning to do with that?” he motioned at the bag. 

“Submit it for a shot at an internship. With the FBI. Oh. I installed the router last night after you closed.” 

“Last night? How did you get past security?” 

“It was easy.” 

“Brian raised a hand to his temple. “How.” 

“Cyn came with me.” 

Brian dropped his hand, relieved. “Go, Chad. Now.” 

“Sure,” Chad smiled, grabbed the duffel. “I gave Aunt Cyn all the modification specs. And…thanks. For the rental car,” he hiked out the door. 

Brian’s com buzzed; he keyed it open. “Yes?” 

Gardner Vance. “Brian, I need to see you in my office right away.” 

 

* * * * *

In Vance’s office, Brian slouched in a chair next to Vance at his desk. Across the room, Lana sat gripping a large envelope in her lap until Vance finally spoke. 

“We’re both here. Now what is it you have to say?” 

She stood, approached the desk and looked from one to the other. “I know there’s suspicion about me. Yes, I do have friends at Neville, and they know I got a raw deal. But I work for YOU now, and to prove it, I got this from them,” she opened the envelope. 

“What happened to confidentiality?” Brian leaned back, arms crossed. 

Lana dropped a black ring binder on the desktop near Brian. “It’s not Neville’s. It’s yours.” 

Vance shot a look at Brian. 

Equally stunned, Brian lifted the familiar binder with VANGUARD on its spine, eyed Lana. “How did they get this?” 

“I’m not at liberty to say.” 

Vance’s forehead furrowed, reading as Brian paged through the open binder, paused on: HEMMERBECK. A few pages, then: CRATER & SONS. 

Brian slapped the binder shut, picked it up, stood. “Is this meeting over?” 

“Not quite,” Vance answered. “Lana, shut the door on your way out.” 

After she left, Vance unleashed. “Under the terms of our partnership, I put up most of the capital as long as you secure most of the accounts. So far we have two major players in which, to rephrase your earlier point, I now share a loss. I’m not a gambler, I’m not a philanthropist. I’m not even your friend. If this trend continues, I WILL take action to have this partnership dissolved. Your opinion on allaying my fears?” 

“You’re a fearless man. And I’m the Miracle Worker. Now if you don’t mind, I hear the fat lady singing,” Brian smiled, opened the door and walked out knowing that the fucker was serious. 

He slow-blinked at Lana as he passed her in the hall. 

“Brian,” Lana stopped him. “I don’t expect your apology-” 

“For what? I had legitimate concerns and I acted on them.” 

“I just want you to support me like you would any other person here.” 

He low-toned, “This isn’t my binder,” and left her standing. 

Lana watched him. Thinking over what she did. And that he didn’t do the same to her when he had the chance. 

Brian stopped at Cynthia’s desk. “I need a copy of today’s agenda.” 

“Lose your day planner?” she quipped, dropped it when she saw his face. 

“Not mine.” 

 

* * * * *

In Novotny’s living room, Justin slung his backpack to the floor, unbuckled it, “I can’t stay long. Just wanted to make sure I got this back to you.” He removed Vic’s recipe binder, handed it over. 

“You didn’t have to make a special trip. I trust you,” Vic watched him dig out a narrow phone-book-sized packet in black plastic, unwrap and present it – a white, professionally bound book. 

“This is for you. I got the idea from a friend, and my boss at the Copy Shop did the binding.” 

Vic accepted it, shook his head and sat on the couch. His hand-drawn portrait on the cover of Vic Grassi – The Gay Gourmet. “Justin,” his eyes glazed as he paged through scanned copies of his collection, “This is…this is…” he shook his head smiling. 

Justin brought over the rest. “I made enough for the family. That way, if we all have our own, they’ll get more use. They’re not official till you sign them.” Justin set the stack on the floor beside Vic’s feet. “Is it okay?” 

“Get over here,” Vic pat the cushion beside him, waited until Justin sat down then one-armed a hug. “It’s more than okay. Thank you, Sunshine.” 

They backed apart with Vic still shaking his head and slowly paging. “Since you’re the official publisher, I think I’ll sign the first one to you and Brian.” 

“I…” Justin cleared his throat,“…made us each a copy,” forced a smile and looked at Vic. “In case we, you know.” 

“After all the nights he spent with you at Presby a while back? I don’t think so.” 

“I never saw him there,” Justin shook his head. 

“You were probably out of it most of the time. That night I went in, I couldn’t sleep so the night nurse and I got to talking and found out I knew you both. She was glad to see you and your so-called big, sexy lover looking so well. Said to say hi.” 

“He never told me,” Justin looked down at his fidgeting hands, glanced at Vic’s book. “Sometimes people do a lot of extra things when they feel like they owe you for something.” 

Vic caught the glance, lifted the book. “Did you think you owed me this?” 

“No! I did it because…” 

Vic leaned a little closer, smiling, waiting for the rest. 

“I didn’t send it in an anonymous package,” Justin finished. 

“That’s because you’re not Brian Kinney.” Vic sat back, lightened, “Personally, I like your way better. It’s a heckuva lot easier to figure out.” 

“I hafta get back to class,” Justin rose and shouldered his pack. 

Vic joined him. “And I’ve got some celebrity book signing,” he opened the door for Justin to leave. 

“Later,” Justin waved. It’s because I wanted you to know you’ll be remembered. Make you feel special. Because I think you’re wonderful…and I love you. 

But I’m not Brian Kinney. 

 

* * * * *

Paul Bright got into his four-door, tossed his briefcase on a stack of folders on the passenger side. He jumped at Brian’s voice. 

“Do you always leave your car unlocked?” 

Paul jerked a look at Brian, rising off the back seat to lean on arms folded over the front seatback. “Brian? What kind of joke is this?” 

“No joke. Neville sent me a gift. Lose this?” Brian reached back, swung the Vanguard folder over the headrest so it plopped onto the briefcase. When Paul stared mute, “You’re the only one who got the new orientation folder. How did you get into my accounts?” 

Paul tensed, swallowed, “Your office. You left your computer signed in. Look. I just wanted to study your system. Because they say you’re the best.” 

“Well your fucking flattery cost two major sales.” 

Paul craned face-to-face, grabbed the binder. “I never gave this to ANYONE.” 

“Not with the Welcome and Insurance pages. You were tailed by a goddamn corporate spy,” Brian flamed. “They follow you to clients. Sit beside you at airports. Read your laptop over your shoulder. So keep your car locked, your back to the wall and read the fucking Wall Street Journal.” 

“Then…you’re not letting me go?” 

“We hired you because you’re smart, aggressive and credible. If we want this relationship to work…” Brian’s train slipped, “…we have to get past this…and…” he noticed Paul’s confusion, covered by reclaiming the binder. “I’m keeping this. Is there anything else missing?” 

“No,” Paul looked away. “Those were the only three I copied. Hemmerbeck, Crater and BioGen.” 

Brian scowled, paged. No BioGenTech. Fucking Neville. “Have a nice day,” Brian flew out of the car, barely hearing Paul’s “Thanks, Brian” as Brian pulled his cell, dialed and unlocked the Jeep. He would’ve fired the bastard on the spot. But for some reason, he considered the other side. 

“Cynthia. Get BioGen set up for a presentation as soon as possible. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.” 

Brian pitched the cell and binder inside, got in, slammed the door and leaned back. He didn’t have the main ad fleshed out. Wasn’t ready. 

But a more important mission couldn’t wait. 

 

* * * * *

Brian stopped the Jeep in front of Novotny’s, stared at the house. His hand lightly tapped the steering wheel to thoughts in motion, replaying Justin’s detailed account from last night. One last tap, then he left the car and walked to the front door. 

 

* * * * *

It was late evening by the time Justin left PIFA. A little smile spread at the sight of the Jeep. Two nights in a row. Then the smile dimmed. Brian didn’t do pity. But that was getting hard to discount. 

Justin opened the door, “Hey,” swung his pack in, followed it, shut the door and sniffed. “You got a pizza?” He eyed Brian’s weird grin. 

“For later,” Brian stretched for a kiss and got a short one before gearing up. 

“I thought you didn’t DO carbs after seven.” 

“I can splurge once in awhile.” 

Because you feel sorry for me? “Brian,” Justin looked at his fidgeting hands, “You don’t have to do all this…I mean…picking me up-” 

“Do I ever do anything I don’t want to do?” Brian strained polite, could see they wouldn’t last to the Loft. So he pulled over and stopped. 

“No,” Justin was mildly distracted by Brian’s fishing through the glove compartment, “It’s just that…sometimes I wonder about your reasons.” 

“Few don’t,” Brian flicked on the dome light, unwrapped a handkerchief and laid it open on the seat between them. A piece of broken glass. “I found this in Vic’s trash.” 

Justin eyed it, flared “What?” winced and leaned his head against a raised hand. “Goddammit, Brian, you didn’t tell him-” 

“The bathroom trash,” Brian broke in, “And unless he was in there pissing WITH me, he doesn’t know shit. So quit being such a drama queen.” 

Justin slid his hand under the handkerchief, lifted and studied the shard. “How did you know…” 

“Because I know Vic. He’s careful, almost compulsive. He’d never leave anything behind that he thought might hurt someone.” 

Justin rewrapped the piece, zipped it into his backpack. “Thanks.” 

“We’ll still get tested in a few weeks, but I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about.” 

Justin threw his arms around Brian for a mutual hot kiss that Brian broke first. 

“Come back to the Loft,” he watched Justin’s smile dip for a fraction. “Until you’re ready to go…home.” Maybe try again later. 

Justin nodded okay. 

 

* * * * *

Blue lights glistening off sweat-beaded bodies, Justin stretched beside Brian as they recovered from a steamy fuck. 

Justin’s glow dampened, eyes elsewhere. “Mom cancelled dinner Sunday.” 

“Because of me?” 

“She said she had an Open House. But she wants to take us to lunch tomorrow. Noon at the Steakhouse.” Justin gazed right at Brian. “Would you come? I know it’s kinda last minute-” 

“I’ll be there,” Brian smiled, returned Justin’s sprite kiss. He crooked an arm under his head, raised a knee, groaned. “I know I’ll hurt for awhile.” 

“You’re the one who moved the coffee table,” Justin rolled to a sit, rubbed Brian’s leg. 

“You should have been here to stop me.” He watched Justin lean in to gently kiss his knee. A rare man. Strong, sensitive. Beautiful. Brian stroked Justin’s back and tried to imagine life without this. “I want you to move back here…if you want.” 

Justin froze a look, turned his back and drew into a cross-legged slump. “I don’t want to owe anybody, and you don’t have to take care of me.” 

“I never said you couldn’t take care of yourself. And you’ll never owe me anything.” 

“Can I think about it?” Justin whispered. 

“You don’t need my permission.” 

Justin half-smiled, “I hafta go. Got a heavy assignment due tomorrow,” left the bed and slowly dressed. When he saw Brian dressing on the other side, “Just stay here. I’ll be okay.” 

Brian zipped his pants, stood shirtless. “We could’ve stopped and picked it up.” 

“You’d queen out if I got paint on the hardwood floor,” Justin snickered. 

Brian charged across the bed, thumped down and bear-hugged Justin-“I do NOT queen out,”-both laughing until they melted against each other. “Bring the paint. Buy the fucking spider. We’ll chain it on the landing and get rid of the alarm.” 

Justin’s giggle quieted. They hadn’t laughed much in their last days of living together. “I’ll think about it.” Then he perked a smile, kissed Brian, backed off. “Later.” 

Brian walked to the bedroom doorway as Justin skipped down steps, donned his backpack and saw himself out. 

I won’t ask again. I don’t grovel. And you left me fucking HARD, you little shit. But I’ll wait. Because I…you’re worth it. 

 

* * * * *

A busy morning at Vanguard. Brian stopped at Cynthia’s desk. 

“What’s the word on BioGen?” 

“Good morning, Cynthia…” she greeted herself to his tongue-in-cheek. “They’re tentatively set up for three o’clock this afternoon, but I’m waiting for a call-back.” 

“That’s perfect,” Brian turned to his office. 

“Brian? Can I take an hour off to run Chad to the airport?” 

He stopped, looked back, “I really need you here. But I have a lunch appointment out there. I can drop him on my way.” 

 

* * * * *

Justin bounced into the diner and up to Debbie at the counter with a line of customers. His unusually cheery smile widened hers. 

“Hi, Sunshine. I can tell it’s payday,” she keyed the cash register open, reached under the bill tray and whipped out an envelope. 

“That too,” he winked, took the check and shoved it into his pocket. 

“Hi Sweetie!” Emmett turned on his counter barstool; Ted leaned past him and waved. 

Justin waltzed over, “Hey, guys,” kissed Emmett. And Ted, who stiffly corner-eyed. 

Emmett lit, “Somebody’s someone did something spe-cial.” 

“Yeah,” Justin dreamed off, “He went through the trash for me…” 

Emmett swooned, “My, that DOES sound…” then it registered, “…romantic,” as he watched Justin troop out the door. Then seriously to Ted, “I’ll never understand that relationship.” 

“Don’t even try.” Ted glanced at his watch, swung off his stool. “Well, I have to meet a man about a job. Wish me luck…friend,” he squeezed Emmett’s shoulder and left. 

“You go, Baby.” 

 

* * * * *

Brian pulled to the curb in front of Liberty Air, checked his rear-view mirror and saw a familiar car swing in behind him. Tom slid out the passenger side and met the rising trunk lid. Ted stepped out to help, saw the Jeep and headed for Brian’s side. 

Brian sighted Ted in his side-view as Chad hauled out his equipment with a “Thanks for everything, Mr. Kinney,” and slammed the door. 

Brian rolled down his window. “Theodore Schmidt. You’re leaving town,” with a sarcastically broad smile. 

“Just Tom. You’ll never believe this, but he asked me-” 

“To marry you?” 

“NO. To start a Pittsburgh branch for a new software company. His group just created an internal security program for businesses. It could be worth…a…LOT…of money,” Ted nodded wide-eyed. “Who’s HE?” Ted pointed at Chad. 

Brian turned aside to see Chad and Tom exchanging reports, smiling. “Cynthia’s nephew. He’s into security breaching.” 

“Are you serious?” Ted ogled. “We could be looking at the next Microsoft.” 

Brian raised a brow. “Move aside.” He was out and over to the boys before Ted could ask why. 

“Mr. Kinney,” Chad looked up, “This is a really good program,” Chad displayed a page of Tom’s gibberish. 

“I forgot to give you my card,” Brian handed one to Tom, one to Chad. “Give me a call when you decide to go public. Good luck,” he smiled as they waved and headed into the terminal. Total strangers, now intimate brothers over some unreadable language. The Language. 

Brian sprinted to his Jeep in time to avoid the cop who was ticketing Ted’s car. Ted was too busy pleading to notice Brian’s departure. 

 

* * * * *

At the Loft, Brian fanned pages of BioGen’s file across his desk and shuffled until he located a sample DNA chart. Scanned it into his hard drive. Open program: Bio Ad. Onscreen, a bland picture of a DNA sequencer – could’ve been a laser printer for all its interest. Select and shrink data. Insert DNA chart at top. Color: Blue…lighter. Duplicate. Duplicate Color: Red…lighter. Select transparent. Overlay charts, slightly offset with purple merge points. Insert print top: A Perfect Match. Insert print bottom: Your Best Results and…select logo… BioGenTech. Save. Print. 

If he ran it back to Creative, they just might have enough time to prep for presentation. He glanced at eleven-fifteen on his computer clock and knew he had to make a decision. Miss lunch with Justin, or blow his best shot with BioGen. 

Waiting for the copy, Brian went to the fridge, opened it and scrounged for a beer. Saw a bottle of Dom Perignon shoved to the back. A souvenir reminder to fuck relationships. Or a warning about fucked up priorities? He pulled it out, stood it on the counter and focused on it as if it were some crystal ball with the answer. 

 

* * * * *

The Steakhouse lunch crowd had dwindled to a few dawdlers. Jennifer sat at a table of used plates and watched Justin eulogize a note from their waitress. 

“He called to say he can’t make it, and he’ll catch me later.” 

“Justin,” she waited for his eyes, “When I mentioned his age, I wasn’t talking about years. I was talking about a professional with obligations and commitments. You have so much time before you have to put up with the missed lunches. Cancelled plans. Phone calls about being late at a meeting, or on a conference call. Last minute notice he has to leave town. It’s a large part of his time…that can’t include you.” 

Justin hardened, “You knew he wouldn’t make it.” 

“I was about ninety percent sure.” 

“I guess you’re thrilled.” 

“No, I’m NOT thrilled, Justin,” Jennifer stretched forward. “I wanted you to understand the reality of what you’re doing…and not limit yourself for that.” 

“Then why did YOU?” 

Jennifer bit her lip. She knew why. Didn’t want to counter the point she thought she’d made. 

Liz and Harry approached before she could gather an answer. 

“Hi, Justin!” Liz chirped. “I THOUGHT that was you.” 

“Hey,” Justin half-smiled. “Mom, this is Liz and Harry from PIFA…” and to them, “This is my Mom.” 

A round of hi-hello’s before Harry spoke. “We’re heading over to the Coffee Shop before going back to class. Wanna come?” 

Justin checked Jennifer’s smiley nod, jammed the note into his pocket and left his seat. “Sure. Thanks for lunch, Mom.” He hesitated, lightly kissed her. 

Jennifer breathed relief at the sight of Justin chattering with friends as they walked out. Maybe he DID have a life other than Brian. She lifted her coffee cup in both hands, elbows on the table, stared at Justin’s leftovers. She was losing her baby. To what. 

She sat motionless for a few minutes, snapped to present when the waitress’s hand slid her check on the table. A man’s hand snatched it with “I’ll get that.” She looked up, surprised to see Brian. 

“You just missed him,” she set her cup down. 

He motioned to Justin’s chair, she nodded, he sat. “Was he-” 

“Of course,” Jennifer softly answered, “But he’ll excuse it…and open himself up for more.” 

“He’s not a little boy, Mrs. Taylor. He’s a man with his own ideas, own decisions.” 

“I know that,” she stared stoic,“YOU’RE the one that worries me. I just want to know one thing,” she breathed heavier watching his emotionless face. “Do you love my son?” 

What was with Taylors and words. Brian’s jaw flinched, eyes did a slow blink. 

Not good enough. She leaned forward, more emphatic. “Do you love my son.” 

Brian felt a vile rat in his gut, clawing to get out. 

 

* * * * *

That night, alt Rock low in the background, Justin sat cross-legged on the floor beside his plant, shoebox file cabinet in his lap. He fingered a Liberty Air ticket wallet, opened it. A used boarding stub sat in the pocket with a refund receipt and a Vermont brochure. He blinked off a glaze, set the paper on the floor then took a folded white handkerchief from the box, carefully unwrapped it in his palm and rotated his hand to watch the light fragment through the little piece of glass. 

“Hey Justin, you with us?” Liz called. 

Justin looked over at Harry, Liz and her Beatnik Boyfriend lounging on large pillows and passing a jay, sketchpads and pencils scattered. 

“Sure,” Justin balled the handkerchief, stared at the Liberty wallet, tossed both in the box then set it aside and crawled to join the group. 

“Love your place,” Beatnik looked around, “But it’s gotta be a bitch sleepin’ in a chair,” he offered the jay. 

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted more stuff around,” Justin accepted, “But I think I just decided.” He took a small hit. Just to dull the edge. 

 

* * * * *

Brian, buzzed and listless clinked through the chains as he left Babylon’s back room. He heard a little clapping, a cheer and saw money change hands between three Tricks darting looks at him. Michael met him, clarified. 

“They were betting on how long you’d be back there.” 

“Longer than MOST of them,” Brian snorted, hung an arm around Michael’s neck and guided him away. 

“I meant time,” Michael held on. “You know the new craze…E-Viagra hits.” 

“Eeeeeeverybody wants to be fucking Brian Kinney.” 

“I don’t wanna pry-” 

“Then don’t.” 

“-but if you had a fight with Justin-” 

Brian pulled away. “We don’t even live together. What the fuck is there to fight about.” 

“You’re not…” 

They stood eyeing each other a moment before Brian answered too sober, too somber. “He doesn’t trust me anymore. And I don’t blame him,” Brian left. 

Michael caught up with him in the parking lot beside the Jeep. “Did he say that?” 

Brian jingled through keys, searching for the right one. “You know Justin. I’m supposed to figure it out,” Brian paused, looked straight at Michael, “Do you know his mother asked me if I loved him? And I said yes? And I STILL don’t know what the fuck it meant?” 

“I think you do,” Michael touched his arm, “Or you wouldn’t have said yes in the first place.” 

Brian mulled that, unlocked his door and got in. “Are you walking?” 

Michael reanimated and circled to the passenger side to join him. 

“You can drop me off at Ben’s,” Michael fastened his seatbelt, “Then you’re gonna go home…and figure it out.” 

Brian exhaled, looked at Michael. Even in the dark he could feel the jabbing stare. 

 

* * * * *

Brian walked into the dark Loft, halted short of the light switch when he noticed a strange glow on the floor. Streetlight was shining through the window. But he’d closed the blinds before he’d left. 

Moving slowly past the hall, he looked across the living room at Justin’s silhouette sitting sideways on the window ledge beneath the raised blinds, his cast shadow filling the room more than the furnishings ever did. 

“I…stole your spare key this morning. Thought I’d surprise you.” 

Brian stopped short of the light. Feelings like this made him uncomfortable, good as they were. Some not so good. Why are you here? What do you want? I can only give you what I know, and some things aren’t that clear for me. But I’ll give you all I can, if you’ll take it. 

“Don’t expect me to say…I love you.” 

“Don’t expect me to say I know.” 

Brian stepped into the light and realized that the strange shadows cast were from two plants, and an easel.

* * *

Song: “Stay (Airscape Mix)” by Wendy Phillips


End file.
